Murdoch Unchained
by Demosthenes23
Summary: A Pinkerton agent (Murdoch) rides the rails to Calgary in 1883 in search of two fugitives. Many familiar faces will be met during the course of this fic.
1. Chapter 1

**I honestly don't know what to call this one. So the title may change. **

**Note: Everyone is supposed to be more or less S1 ages.  
**

* * *

Steam spewed forth from the valve gear as the bulky black locomotive came to a screeching halt. Some unfortunate passengers had not been expecting such a sudden stop and fell over. Murdoch helped an older man to his feet and then with his single bag slung across his shoulder, descended the two metal steps to land in Calgary. Until very recently it had been an isolated spot. So it was no surprise to Murdoch that the town was far from thriving.

_No architectural wonders here._

Though, as he meandered through the quiet village, he was pleased to discover it had most of the essentials. Unlike the most recent city he had been in, there was a notable lack of street lamps, or as he had noted on Yonge street, arc lamps. While most of Toronto didn't have a constant supply of electricity, some of the more affluent denizens had begun experimenting with various different types of lighting. The eerie glow such arc lamps emitted was preferable to no lighting whatsoever in unfamiliar surroundings. Soon it would be dark and Murdoch made a mental note to procure a lantern after he attended to his duties.

Within minutes he had passed through the densest part of Calgary. From what he understood, the North-West Mounted Police (NWMP) had a barracks in the North-East corner along the Bow and Elbow rivers. The trek there was an easy one, this being the Prairies and all, yet he was very tired from lack of sleep on the journey here and was now keenly feeling any exertion. The supplies on his back weren't helping matters. Nevertheless, he pushed forward like he always did and approached the roughly hewn wooden fort.

From up in one of the four corner watch towers, an armed Mountie called down asking him to state his purpose.

"To speak with your Commander."

The Mountie sized him up for a moment. "All right, you can pass."

Murdoch thanked the man and then headed through the gateless fort enclosure. Other Mounties watched his progress as he crossed the dirt courtyard. After some confusion in the barracks themselves, he eventually located the quarters of the man in charge. The somewhat stout orange haired man started awake from behind a small rectangular table at Murdoch's knock. Clearly he had fallen asleep while reading what appeared to be a children's novel. But it was hard to be certain as the commander had immediately dropped it out of sight.

"What do you want?" he asked sourly, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

"My name is William Murdoch and I am here on behalf of my employers, The Pinkertons-"

"Here we go," the man muttered, reaching for his glass of whiskey.

Murdoch ignored his rudeness and continued, "We are in pursuit of two highly dangerous fugitives," he pulled out the wanted poster from the top of his bag and held it out to the commander, "one James Gillies and one Robert Perry."

"Bloody hell!" the commander yelped, jumping to his feet after seeing how much the bounty was. He grabbed the poster out of Murdoch's hand to goggle at the amount further.

"Yes, it's a fair sum," he said, waiting for the commander to give him his full attention again. When the man continued to gawk, Murdoch cleared his throat loudly, and the commander finally came to his senses and stood at attention like a proper military man would.

"The fugitives in question have robbed several Toronto banks," Murdoch proceeded with his narration, "killing six people in the process. The constabulary apprehended them, but somehow they managed to escape custody." The commander rolled his eyes and Murdoch couldn't help but silently agree with his assessment of the ineptitude of the Toronto police, and in particular, station house four. "I have reason to believe they boarded the Pacific Railway three weeks ago and are now somewhere nearby."

Incredulous for a different reason than the lofty price on their heads, "And what brought you to _that_ brilliant conclusion? There's nothing bloody out here!"

"I have enquired down the line and have still not located them, therefore it is only logical they are here." Murdoch smiled thinly. "At the time of their departure, this was the end of the line, more or less."

The older man grumbled at the prospect of doing any work. "I suppose this means you're expecting us to help in your search."

"Seeing as I am not well acquainted with the area, that would be most appreciated, yes," said Murdoch with a nod.

"And uh," he said overly eagerly, but trying to hide it, "would there perhaps be a reward in there for me?" He caught Murdoch's raised eyebrow and gestured to the poster on the table, eyes becoming shifty. "Should we find those tossers, I mean."

"Such a decision would not be up to me I'm afraid. But I have been authorized to give a small stipend to all those who aid me in my quest."

The commander eyed him for a moment and then sighed, body sagging. "All right, Murdoch, I'll put some men together and they'll assist you...tomorrow morning."

Considering it was nearly eight o'clock and he was exhausted and starving, this was music to his ears.

"Thank you..."

The commander puffed out his chest and raised a hand to his forehead, showing some real manners for the first time since his arrival. "Lieutenant-Colonel Brackenreid. At your service."

"Thank you, Brackenreid."

* * *

In vain did Murdoch search for a place to eat and rest. There were no restaurants or hotels here. So he went into the general store and bought himself some stale bread. After devouring that right in front of the apologetic proprietor, he purchased a lantern and went in search of a decent location to lay his weary head down.

As he was leaving the town he came across a curious sight. That of a big boned man attempting to use what appeared to be an old fashioned printing press. A petite blond woman - clearly a recent arrival from some city judging by her overly elegant attire - watched his progress impatiently, eventually attempting to take over the task of winching the two halves together. Unsurprisingly she accomplished even less than the man. Then she started to jump around like a child having a tantrum. It was most unbecoming. The strong man looked frightened by such a display and started backing further into the building, quickly hitting the back wall of the small, poorly constructed structure.

Near his ear. "Quite the spectacle, isn't it?"

He turned to face another blond haired beauty. Her wavy, or rather, uncouth hair cascaded across her shoulders, which directed his attention downwards past her silver horse necklace, dusty white blouse...to finally fixate on her beige _trousers_!

Without introducing herself she continued, "My sister fancies herself a reporter. She hopes to shed some light on the scandalous treatment of the Chinamen working the railroad."

The unusually dressed woman watched him closely, apparently wanting to know how he would react to such a statement. Murdoch was too tired to react, something she must have noticed.

"I was just about to collect my sister for a late dinner." Murdoch eyed said sister attacking the non compliant press. "Would you care to join us?"

Given the nature of his job, he often ended up in unusual locales and at the mercy of others kindness. "That would be lovely," he replied, with a small appreciative smile.

She smiled back and held out her hand like a man would, "Julia."

"William Murdoch," he returned, lightly shaking her hand, surprised at how rough they were. Julia seemed amused by this reticence to apply pressure. By the time he decided to make the handshake more firm, she had already departed towards the would be printing shack with long, purposeful strides. Despite his tiredness and the fading light, he found himself gazing at one particular part of her anatomy, irrationally thrilled at the way the trouser bottoms were hugging her curves.

_Oh dear_, he thought. _I really must get some decent rest tonight._

He watched as Julia sent the strong man away and laid a calming hand to her sister's shoulder. Julia said something to her and the younger woman looked over at him. She nodded once as Julia continued to speak to her, a smirk beginning to spread across her features. Then arm in arm the sisters left the shack and he was introduced to Ruby. Ruby held her hand out like a lady would and he felt obliged to take it. She seemed disappointed when he didn't kiss it.

Julia led them over to a hitching post, where two horses rested. Murdoch was not looking forward to another journey and his heart dropped. As if reading his mind Julia turned to him and said, "It's just a short ride. We'll be there in no time."

Because Julia wore trousers she was able to quickly mount her horse, again doing things like a man would. Ruby on the other hand was having difficulties hefting her heavy skirts onto the saddle. Seeing her dilemma, he came to her aid and gave her a little push. While well intentioned, his plan backfired and she went up and over the target and then proceeded to hang upside down, skirts in her face, failing around, desperately trying to free her caught boot but unable to bend far enough due to her rigid corset.

He caught Julia's eye and she tried to keep it in but then Ruby's boot released her foot and she fell on her head. Julia burst out laughing, marginally frightening her horse. Ruby told her off in an unladylike way while attempting to get herself upright again. Wanting to atone for his blunder, he assisted this endeavour to which she thanked him with a glare.

"My hair is ruined," she muttered.

And it was quite true. All of the carefully crafted curls were no more. He was going to apologize but she brushed past him and jumped at the poor horse. This time her anger gave her the strength to mount it on the first try.

Julia looked to him and said, "Well, get up here, William."

He handed up his bag first and then seeing that she wasn't planning on letting him take the reins, hesitantly took his place behind her. She smelled like her horse but he didn't seem to care.

"You might want to hold on," she said, the hint of a smirk in her voice. "I like to ride fast."

Murdoch lightly wrapped his arms around her small waist and was rewarded with the actual feel of her soft body! No skirt _or_ corset! Curiouser and curiouser!

"I'd hold on tighter if I were you."

She didn't need to tell him twice once they took off down the darkened dirt road, Julia in the lead, guiding the way. He immediately lost his hat and it was immediately crushed by Ruby's horse. Somehow he doubted that this was an accident...

It was no matter; it felt good to have the warm summer air caress his scalp. It had been quite awhile since he had gone riding (bicycle or otherwise) without his trusty homburg for company. It was strange, but without it he often felt like an entirely different man, free from his usual restraint and propriety, as if the piece of fabric held mystical properties.

_Ludicrousness._

This pleasant effect was quickly shattered when the wind shifted and Julia's hair continuously whacked him in the face.

"What brings you all the way out here?!" she yelled over the stampeding of her horses hooves.

He didn't really want to even _attempt_ to answer that for three reasons. One: horse smelling hair would instantly end up in his mouth. Two: it was a somewhat sensitive topic to discuss. Third and most important in his mind: he thought she should be focusing all her attention on where they were headed! Murdoch could barely see a thing and had no idea how they hadn't lost their footing and toppled headlong to grievous injury.

"William?!"

"I'm sorry, Julia!" he shouted, spitting out bits of hair as he spoke, "but perhaps we could discuss that once we arrive at...wherever it is you are taking me!"

"We're headed to my ranch!" she returned, again throwing him for a loop.

"_Your_ ranch!?" he exclaimed, unable to stop himself, almost choking on the large amount of hair that wilfully lodged itself down his throat.

She laughed. "Yes, William, _my_ ranch!" There was a pause. "Considering everything you've seen about me so far, are you really so shocked?!"

"No, I suppose not!"

Who was this strange woman? And what had he gotten himself into this time?

* * *

**As I'm sure is abundantly obvious, this entire fic was based on a scenario where Julia wouldn't have worn a corset...no actually, that is totally a lie...I was inspired by Red Dead Redemption. The lack of corset was just a happy coincidence.  
**

**Anyway, I'm not planning on making this an overtly romantic fic, so if that's what you're looking for, look elsewhere. That's not to say there _won't_ be a little something something. ;)  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**I modified the previous chapter ever so slightly. Had a better, funnier idea for this one. :)  
**

* * *

Julia's ranch was situated some three miles from 'town'. They were the longest three miles of his existence. To say the ride had been unusual would have been a vast understatement. Murdoch had never been so uncomfortable and so exhilarated all at the same time. By the time they charged through the ten foot high posts designating the land, he was very much alert and ready for anything.

Julia skillfully steered her grey stallion straight into his stable without barely slowly down. The powerful beast breathed out deeply once, and then seemed to be rested, for it made no further sound.

"You can let go now," she said, clearly amused again.

Murdoch hastily did so, and now that the harrowing adventure had passed, he suddenly became intensely aware of how inappropriate it had been for him to hold a corset less woman in the first place, especially one who was a complete stranger. In fact, the more that he thought about it, the more he realized it could have been avoided all together. There had been two available horses...Ruby should have doubled with her sister and he should have simply taken the other.

To his elevated mind this could only mean two things. One: Julia had not trusted him enough to take possession of one of her horses, fearing he would either injure or steal it. Or two, and his heart fluttered at the thought, she had _wanted_ him to hold on ever so tightly for some ulterior motive of her own.

"You're going to have to get off first too," she said, breaking through his ruminations.

"Oh, yes, of course!" he replied, clumsily doing just that and nearly landing on his buttocks.

Julia didn't comment, though it was obvious she was trying not to laugh. It seemed every blunder caused her great joy.

"You've lost your hat."

"Yes, it appears I did," he said absentmindedly patting down his hair. This was not necessary as only water was capable of ever putting a hair out of place, and the only time water ever came in contact with his head was during his monthly bath, something he deemed Julia was long overdo for, judging by the smell of her.

_Don't be so unfair, William. She works with animals for a living._ _Even if she bathed every day she would likely still have an unpleasant odour._

And such a notion was preposterous so he put it out of his mind.

"Well, I'm sure we can find a replacement for you somewhere around here."

"Oh, no," he said with a wave of his hand, "that will not be necessary."

"I insist. You can pick one out tomorrow morning."

Murdoch gaped at her, again feeling irrationally thrilled. "I am to spend the night?"

She laughed, though it was more of an abrupt snort than anything. "You are my guest, William. It would hardly be hospitable of me to kick you out after dinner. Besides, it is quite apparent that you are in dire need of some quality _relaxation_."

He gulped in response.

As she was holding out his bag, Ruby finally caught up to them, looking positively devilish in the lantern glow of the stable. If her hair had been unruly before, it was now reminiscent of Medusa, and indeed, her glare nearly set him in stone. But then he realized she was glaring at her sister and his limbs began functioning anew.

"Why must you always ride at breakneck speeds!" she whined. "You know I have no hope of keeping up with you! I nearly lost my way again! Do you even understand the concept of an escort?"

Julia simply smirked, shrugging her shoulders, which of course infuriated her sister to no end and she continued to whine like a spoiled brat. Julia ignored this and gracefully descended her stead, patting him on the neck a few times to which she received another loud exhale.

"Shall we?" she said to him, gesturing towards the main house.

He nodded curtly, eager to get away from the wrath of Ruby.

The ranch house was nothing fancy and could certainly have done with a repair or two, but it was still far better than any other accommodations in town...considering there were none.

Julia headed over to the hearth and the hunk of meat propped over the glowing embers. She picked up the sharp knife and fork resting on the platter there and quickly sawed off two large pieces. His salivated as the juices dropped down and sizzled, the enticing aroma wafting out to ensnare his senses. When she held up the platter he noticed the top piece of meat was much smaller than the others.

By way of explanation she said, "The burden of corsets. One is not capable of having much of an appetite, no matter the exertion."

This intrigued him. He had always just assumed the fairer sex ate less, to well, remain fair. He must have made a strange face because she snorted again.

"Yes, that is the appropriate response to such foolishness. I have never understood the appeal." She moved towards the circular dining table and he followed. "Which is precisely why I escaped the constraints of so called," she chuckled, "_polite_ society as soon as I could."

Ruby barged in then, a swirl of dust and dirt sweeping in with her, and stormed up the stairs.

"Will she be all right?" he asked.

Dismissively, "Ruby will be fine once she cleans up a bit. And eats something. She has always been a terror when she's hungry."

He nodded and they sat down across from one another. The table had already been set so she simply served him a slab and he dug, or rather, cut right in. The first bite was heaven and he closed his eyes, groaning audibly as he savoured the perfectly cooked beef. He swallowed, opening his eyes to cut another piece and in so doing noticed her keenly watching him.

She smiled with considerable warmth...and something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "I'm glad you are enjoying my offerings so much." She winked, playing with her horse necklace, "There's a _lot_ more where that came from."

In response he reached for the water pitcher, poured himself a hearty serving and took an overly long drink.

They ate in awkward silence, (at least on his part) for a time.

"So, you still haven't told me why you are here. You city folk are always so mysterious."

He debated what and how much to divulge to her. Just because she was being so hospitable did not mean he had to tell her everything. But oddly, under her rapt gaze he didn't think he was capable of lying. And besides, he reasoned, she may have valuable information.

"I'm looking for two fugitives."

"May I ask what their crime was?"

"Multiple counts of robbery and murder."

"How fascinating," she said, propping her hands underneath her chin.

That was not the usual reaction, but then again, there was nothing normal about this woman.

She puzzled him further. "You are with The Pinkertons then."

"How did you know?" he asked, taken aback.

"Well," she said with a sly smile, "you carry no badge, or else I would have surely _felt_ it on the ride here." He looked away, embarrassed at holding her as tightly as he did. "As well, a typical lawman would not come all the way out here simply to do his duty, not when he could have utilized the telegraph instead." She paused, to take a sip of water. "There must be a sizeable reward for their capture."

_Or death_. "There is. Ten thousand dollars apiece."

"Indeed?" she said, raising her eyebrows, but otherwise not reacting.

The fact that she wasn't more stupefied like Brackenreid suggested she either came from money, or had no interest in money. Or both. Judging by Ruby's finery's, he was fairly certain it was both. Suddenly something obvious hit him.

"You wouldn't by any chance happen to be the daughter of Lionel Ogden, would you?"

"Perhaps," she said, eyes lighting up. "Why do you ask?"

When the constabulary failed to locate the fugitives, Lionel Ogden, the owner of the last bank to be robbed, hired The Pinkertons to take over the investigation. Murdoch learned that the constabulary was not completely incompetent and _had_ in fact made use of the Canadian Pacific Railway's telegraph to contact the next stop, North Bay, so that a thorough search could be conducted. When the fugitives weren't located, the constabulary decided they had no reason to pursue that form of transport any further. Murdoch suspected this reticence to check again at the next stop or telegraph any further down the line had more to do with cost than anything else. Telegraphs, especially private ones constructed with the main purpose being to offset railroad construction costs, were not likely to be cheap. And as he understood it, the CPR was more or less out of funds and had asked for another government grant which had yet to be awarded.

Once Murdoch had eliminated all other avenues of escape, he came to the conclusion that the fugitives _must_ have boarded the train after all, but the police had simply not found them...or the fugitives had caught up to the train at a different stop and secretly boarded it then.

Ogden had even _warned_ Murdoch about his daughters being out in Calgary. Should he end up travelling all the way down the line, he should keep his guard up around them as they were wilful creatures, prone to flights of fancy.

Murdoch was extremely annoyed with himself for forgetting these details - even if they were only mentioned in passing over a week ago, and he had been mentally exhausted upon his introduction to the women. Those were _not_ acceptable excuses!

He looked over to find Julia watching him again and felt very mortified to have touched his clients daughter in that way. It was hardly professional behaviour. Rest assured, it would not happen again.

"Your father telegraphed ahead to inform you I would be arriving today." Murdoch was only supposed to telegraph back to Toronto if he located or killed the fugitives. When Ogden didn't hear from him after a certain number of days, he knew Murdoch would soon be in Calgary. "Our meeting was not by chance."

Julia slow clapped, smirking. "Took you long enough."

"Has he _finally_ figured it out then?" said Ruby, coming into the room, all prim and proper. Since she chose that exact moment he figured she had been lurking for some time.

Annoyed to be made to look the fool, he took a moment to compose himself by closing his eyes for five seconds. "Why did you not simply inform me of your identities earlier?"

"One must find their kicks wherever they can out here," said Julia innocently, examining her fork. "Isn't that right, Ruby?"

"Positively," said Ruby, sitting down for her now cold meat.

It was then that he noticed there were _three_ places set. He groaned inwardly at his lack of observational skills, something he privately took great pride in. So focused had he been on the succulent meat and the beautiful (albeit dusty) woman in front of him, he had missed this detail.

"If it had not been for the railway commotion," Ruby continued, "I would surely have been bored senseless by now. I don't understand how you can stand it."

"And I shall never fathom your love for city life."

"Yes, well, you always did lack proper social graces."

Julia snorted into her water and Murdoch was hard pressed not to join her considering Ruby's previous childlike displays. Ruby eyed her disdainfully but said nothing and began daintily cutting into her dinner.

Another thought came to him. "When did you arrive in Calgary, Ruby?"

She swallowed. "Oh, it _feels_ like ages ago, but I suppose it has only been about two weeks."

"Ruby, if I'm not very much mistaken, you were _on_ the train at the same time as Gillies and Perry!"

She gave him a pitying look and patted his hand. "Poor thing, you really should try to get a good night's rest now. You keep stating the obvious."

* * *

**That's right, poor, poor baby William. He's going to have his hands full (in more ways than one)!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, I made myself laugh so perhaps you will too!**

* * *

That sunny, windless morning as he meandered his horse through the town, he couldn't help but notice that everyone he passed would stop what they were doing and watch him, as if he were one of those rough and tumble troublemakers of old. True, he had forgone his tie and could do with a shave, but did that really justify such contemplation? Was it simply because he was a stranger in these parts? Or was it something more? If he had worn the ridiculous cowboy hat Julia had picked for him he would not be wondering in the slightest at this undue attention. As it was, he felt slightly uneasy at every eye glued to his slow, yet steady progress towards the barracks.

Something else he found curious was the state of virtually everyone's clothes. While they were obviously not of fine quality, the tailoring was exceptional, as were the hairstyles. By the looks of these people, one would _not _think Calgary had been the middle of nowhere for the past decade, but rather a prosperous city like Toronto. In fact, this incongruity to the lacklustre nature of the actual town served to intrigue him to such an extent that he couldn't stop himself from entering the barber shop when he came across it.

A bell dinged as he entered _Crabtree's Classic Cuts_ and a well dressed, well groomed dark haired man who looked to be about twenty-five greeted him gaily, as if her were an old, dear friend.

"Welcome, sir, welcome!" the man said, vigorously shaking his hand. He released his hand and for a second Murdoch thought he would bow next. "George Crabtree, at your service!"

"William Murdoch," he said, looking around the place to see it served as both a barber shop and a tailors. Was this one enthusiastic man responsible for the unusual state of things around here?

"What can I do for you today, Mr. Murdoch?" George picked up a pair of scissors in one hand and a razor blade in the other. "A trim? A shave? Or both?"

The man's eagerness to please was actually a bit unnerving, especially with sharp utensils in hand, and Murdoch instantly wished he had stuck to his duty. "Well, I'm not really-"

"Or," continued George, as if he hadn't heard him, "would you perhaps be interested in a properly fitted suit?" George started examining him from head to toe, piece of string out, measuring him, turning him around and feeling up his sides. Murdoch was very uncomfortable but was so baffled by the goings on that he found himself tongue tied. George shook his head tssking. He gestured to the fabric and sewing centre. "I could have this sorted out for you in two hours time. Every man and woman for miles around would stop and stare!"

_They already are_, he thought.

"Would that be to your liking, sir?"

"Well, I-" The tailor/barber looked so happy to be of service, and so like his childhood dog, Bear, that Murdoch couldn't say no. "would like that," he said with a weak smile. "Very much so."

"Wonderful, sir, wonderful!" exclaimed George, practically yanking him out of his suit jacket. "Your vest too, sir!"

Apparently Murdoch was undoing the buttons too slowly because George felt compelled to take over, whipping that off his back too. He stood there awkwardly for a few more seconds, feeling naked in just his white shirt and suspenders, and then headed towards safe haven.

"One moment, sir!" He turned to find George rushing over with a now unfolded wanted poster in hand. "I believe you will be needing this!"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Crabree," he replied, taking it.

"It's dreadful that such people exist in this world," lamented George. "Absolutely dreadful."

"Indeed. You wouldn't by any chance have seen them? Given them a trim, perhaps?"

"No, can't say that I have." A darkness came over him suddenly, "If I happen to come across them I will show them what for...in whatever ways I can." Murdoch followed his gaze to the glinting barber's blade. Just like that the darkness passed and he continued exuberantly, "Now enjoy the rest of this glorious day, sir! And when you come back for your suit, I'll be sure to give you the closest shave you've _ever _had! Your skin will feel like heaven!"

_Oh God_! thought Murdoch as he finally left, _I've just met Sweeney Todd!_

* * *

Back in the Lieutenant-Colonel's quarters, Brackenreid took one look at him and burst out laughing. "I see you've met bugalugs."

_Bugalugs?_

"Almost disrobed me too the first time we met. Bloody madman! No one goes near _my_ backside!" He held up a finger. "Except for the wife!"

"You are married?" he said in a more shocked manner than he had intended.

Brackenreid glared at him. "And why should that be so bloody surprising? Margaret's lucky to have me!"

Murdoch cleared his throat and changed the topic. "Which men will be escorting me around the area?"

"None of them," he grunted, staring him down.

"Colonel," frowned Murdoch, "you assured me yesterday of your support. I think it highly unfair to go back on your word simply because I showed some surprise at your lack of bachelorhood."

Brackenreid rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, Murdoch! What kind of man do you take me for? I'm a man of my word!" He paused. "There was a...dispute late last night down at the old saloon. My men went to take care of it. I'm sure they'll be back in no time."

"What sort of dispute?" enquired Murdoch, suspicious of the way the colonel was avoiding his eye. "Colonel?"

"All right fine! There was no dispute. Every now and again I let the lads partake in the company of...trollops." Murdoch made a face, more at the use of the vulgar word than anything else. "Don't give me that! They're good lads! But they're _still_ lads!" More to himself. "A man has certain needs, dammit!"

Unbidden, a flash of the previous nights wild horse ride swam into view. He cleared it quickly.

"That may well be the case, Colonel, but I was under the impression that prostitution was illegal," he gestured around them, "even all the way out here."

"It's definitely frowned upon _in_ town," he smirked, "but the brothel is some miles from here, so the proper little ladies can't cause too much of a stink. Well, there's that damn Hamilton woman of course." He visibly shivered even though it was already quite warm. In some respects Murdoch was thankful George had divested him of his heavy woollen things. "But that's neither here nor there."

"Tell, me, Colonel, where is this brothel located? I believe I must pay it a visit soon."

"Didn't take you for the sort," said Brackenreid, eyebrows raised.

Murdoch smiled thinly, "I am looking for fugitives, Colonel, men with...needs." Brackenreid scowled at him. "It is feasible that they are near there, or have been there in the last two weeks. If so, perhaps _someone_ there will be able to point me in the right direction."

"Come on then, Murdoch," Brackenreid sighed, strapping his Mk III to his left side, handle facing forward. He left his sabre and rifle behind, apparently not expecting to need them.

"What about your helmet?" he said, pointing to the white cork helmet with a small metal spire out the top. *

"I never wear it if I can help it. Makes me to look the fool."

Wisely, Murdoch decided it was best not to comment.

* * *

The brothel was a two tiered somewhat ramshackle building that doubled as the saloon. All the hitching posts were currently occupied and Murdoch had little doubt who they belonged to. So they hitched up their horses around a tree instead.

They walked through the tall grass in silence and pushed through the swinging doors, Brackenreid in the lead. It being only eight in the morning, the place was fairly deserted. Though there were some revellers from the previous night passed out here and there as well as a couple of dull poker games in progress at two back tables.

Without looking up from behind the counter where he was wiping a glass with an oddly clean rag, the barkeeper, an older, white haired man, said, "It's about time you collected your boys, Brackenreid. They've more than stayed their welcome."

Once in awhile some less than polite sounds made their way down from the upper level. If it had been later in the day, the piano and general merriment would no doubt have covered it up. As it was, Murdoch quickly found such noises distracting and again had a flashback, this time to last nights dinner when Julia had smiled at him in that oh so enticing way.

"Ah, come off it Giles, they're paying customers, just like everyone else here."

Giles scoffed and stared straight at him. "I was not aware that military men considered themselves to be cut from the same cloth as civilians. Or that such practices were generally encouraged by their commanding officer. At least, back in _my_ day as commander they weren't."

"Prick," muttered Brackenreid under his breath. He pushed Murdoch forward and said, "Murdoch here needs your help with an important matter. You can make yourself useful and answer all his questions." Brackenreid smiled, "And pour us both a drink while you're at it."

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary," he interjected. "I don't drink."

_At least, not in the early morning while I'm on the hunt for dangerous fugitives..._

Brackenreid looked at him like he was insane but Giles' face and tone softened ever so slightly. "A man with sense." He looked back to the Colonel and the hardness returned. "Quite the rarity these days."

The two men stared each other down for a time until Murdoch thought it prudent to clear his throat loudly, if only to give him something else to do than listen to a woman's muffled moans of ecstasy right above their heads. Giles poured some whiskey into a shot glass, put it in front of Brackenreid and then gave Murdoch his full attention.

"Mr. Giles, have you seen either of these men before?" began Murdoch, unrolling the wanted poster and holding it up.

Giles took it from him and examined it quite closely. He made no comment about the bounty amount and simply said those same disheartening words Murdoch had heard time and time again all the way down the line and for most of his professional career, "No, I don't believe I have."

Brackenreid downed the whiskey and tapped for another. Giles begrudgingly obliged.

"Are you quite sure? I have reason to believe they may have been disguised at the time."

"Yes, Mr. Murdoch, I am quite sure," replied Giles with a bit of the same coldness reserved just for Brackenreid. "I have an eye for those sorts of troublemakers, disguises or no. I demand order in my saloon at all times." Some thumping around from above and Giles subtly gritted his teeth together. "Now, if that is all, would you _please_ collect your men and leave my establishment?"

"Just a few more questions, sir," said Murdoch pleasantly enough. Giles nodded. "Do you have any idea where these sorts of troublemakers tend to congregate? Is there a camp somewhere around here?"

Giles gave Brackenreid a disdainful look. "Ask him. He's our great protector after all."

Brackenreid scowled and then turned to Murdoch. "We patrol the area as often as we can in order to keep the peace. The only one I can think of is run by two brothers, the O'Shea's. They were fired from the railroad after causing too much trouble with the Chinamen. Nasty lot."

Murdoch wasn't sure if he meant the O'Shea's or the Chinamen.

"Yes," said Giles, "I had the delightful pleasure of their company last week. They barged in here demanding bottles of whiskey and upsetting all of my customers. I of course did not acquiesce so they started harassing the girls. So, I told them Mr. Warton would dispatch of them all if they did not leave the premises immediately."

The man was in his sixties but was clearly still sharp as a tack.

"Mr. Warton?" said Murdoch.

Giles cocked his head towards a silent, brooding negro man sitting in the far corner, cleaning his rifle. Murdoch was embarrassed to say he hadn't noticed him there upon his entry because the man blended in so well with the shadows. Even from this distance, Murdoch knew that was not a man to get into a gun duel with. He had the cool calm one attained through countless fights...and kills.

Murdoch thanked Giles and went to speak with Warton. Giles called him back. "There is little point in questioning him, Mr. Murdoch. He speaks so rarely that most mistake him for a mute. You would simply be wasting your time."

"He's right, Murdoch," said Brackenreid. "Never met a more quiet bloke in my life."

Murdoch approached Warton regardless and held up the wanted poster. "Have you seen these men, Mr. Warton?"

The man glanced up for one second and said, "Nope."

"Please, sir, take another look."

"Nope," he repeated after a lengthy pause, never once stopping with the service of his weapon.

After internally glowering for a moment, Murdoch turned back to the men at the bar. "Where is this camp, Colonel?"

He hoped it was nearby. Part of him was already looking forward to Julia's...offerings.

"Bugger if I know." Giles scoffed again and Brackenreid became defensive. "They're nasty...but they're smart. They move around every few days. It will be difficult to find them without inside help."

Brackenreid surveyed the saloon's occupants and strolled over to one of the men sleeping off the previous nights festivities. He kicked his boots, saying, "Oye!" until the man stirred.

"Whaddaya want?" the haggard man replied grumpily.

"The O'Shea's, you seen them recently?"

"Even if I had," the man grumbled, "I wouldn't tell the likes of you." He spit at the colonel's feet. "Bloody redcoats."

Brackenreid hoisted him to his feet by the lapels. "You've got five seconds to spill your guts, sunshine, or I'll do it for you."

* * *

*** They didn't start wearing the brown broad rimmed hats until closer to 1900...something I kinda got wrong in my Life of Another fic, as well as a bunch of other details, like Vancouver didn't exist in 1884, or at least not the way I described it...I guess that's what happens when you don't do any research...:p**

**We should start a game of name that episode...I must have referenced at least three this time...**


	4. Chapter 4

**You guys got most of the references but not quite. ;)**

**Mild Mild West - the big ridiculous cowboy hat that Murdoch and Brax refused to wear**

**Anything You Can Do - George's random dark side about threatening Reginald Poundsett's life**

**KTG, you can't have anything even remotely close to resembling a url or it gets blocked**

* * *

The roughed up boozer, Abrams, begrudgingly forged the way for the five Mounties and Murdoch through the increasingly tall and wild grasses. The convoy would have been greater but two of the men had been sent back to the barracks to maintain order during Brackenreid's continued absence. It seemed the longer the commander was in the field, the more he was taking a liking to it. Perhaps all it took to please the man was the promise of fresh blood to be spilled? Sometimes Murdoch wondered just how thin the line was between persecutor and persecuted.

"I must say," said a distinguished looking Mountie named Jasper, "that I always feel prodigiously invigorated after a hearty amount of coitus."

Murdoch raised an eyebrow at the randomness and inappropriateness of this statement but otherwise didn't react. While he had enough experience in such matters that he could agree with this assessment, this particular topic was still a bit of sore point for him. Nevertheless, he wasn't completely averse to listening to other men's stories. Though he had never heard it spoken about in such clinical terms before.

"Here we go again," muttered Brackenreid under his breath, rolling his eyes.

"In fact, I believe there are a number of health benefits to frequent and vigorous coitus," he held up a finger, "provided of course one takes the necessary precautions against a multitude of adverse afflictions ever eager to wreak havoc on one's genitals and nervous system." They started to pass through a slow moving and shallow stream. "If one were to make a graph..."

"Not the bloody graph," grumbled the Colonel.

"...with enough suitable variables, for a sufficient period of time, one would surely find that men who partook of the flesh on a regular basis would live longer than ones who denied themselves that most basic of human and earthly delights."

"Then how do you explain all those old priests?" called up one of the other men from nearer the back of the double rowed lines.

Some murmurs of assent from the Mounties. Murdoch watched as a hawk dove to catch its latest meal and hoped this conversation wouldn't blaspheme his religion or else he would have to become a part of it, and he very much wanted to avoid such a thing because when men found out that he was Roman Catholic, he oftentimes lost their trust. And this would undoubtedly make them harder to work with in the very near future.

"There are always aberrations in nature, always exceptions to the rules. But in this particular case I believe that what you perceive to be true is in fact quite the opposite. By fixating on the few one misses the larger picture."

"What the hell are you saying, Jasper?" said the same Mountie as before and Murdoch had to agree. "I never know what the hell you are talking about!"

"I'm simply saying, my dear Perkins, that if one were to consider the sample sizes of each test group and make the necessary adjustments, one would find that, on average, a typical priest does _not_ in fact live longer than the typical male specimen."

"Ah, you're full of shite, Jasper," said Perkins dismissively.

"That may well be," chuckled Jasper good-naturedly. He paused for a moment. "What do you think, Mr. Murdoch?" Murdoch's stomach clenched painfully and he felt like he was a school boy all over again. "I am always eager to hear an outsiders perspective on my theories."

Brackenreid grinned at him sideways as they ascended an open hill. "Yes, Murdoch, don't you think a nice roll in the hay with a buxomly lass every now and then is good for the old soul?"

He thought of all the hay in the Ogden stable and of a certain young lady laying there in wait for him to claim her as his own. Murdoch swallowed hard and tried to cleanse his mind but the image persisted and became progressively more erotic by the second. "Well, I...I don't see why not."

"We're here," said Abrams when they reached the top of the hill.

_Thank goodness_, thought Murdoch, glad for a real distraction from the growing discomfort in his trousers.

"Can I go now?" he asked, apparently not eager to hang around for what was coming next.

"Do as you please, Abrams," said Brackenreid, "we've got no further use for you."

The haggard man instantly headed back down the hill, and would likely find his place in the saloon once more.

A small camp was set up here with many mean customers glancing their way, most with bottles in hand and guns nearby. Murdoch hadn't seen such a depressing display for weeks. He prayed he never ended up in a similar boat and also prayed that these men would find a nobler more productive path to follow.

"All right, lads," said Brackenreid as they approached, "be wary of this lot. They've got no respect for the law and will be sure to take a swing or a shot given half a chance. I don't want any of you to become the next Hodge."

Several of the biggest, meanest looking ones got up and cut off their entrance into the camp.

"Top of the mornin' to ye Brackenreid," said a squat fellow with long lank hair. "What brings ye all the way out here to our lovely digs? The missus throw ye out again? Forgot how to let the dog see the rabbit?"

A couple of the man's comrades guffawed.

"Step aside, O'Shea," commanded Brackenreid.

"I's just making polite conversation." He held out an amber bottle and shook it side to side. "Here, take a wee nip. Yer all edges and it's upsetting me boys. Ain't that right lads?"

A general murmur buzzed around haphazardly. More men had come to block their path.

"I won't ask you again," said Brackenreid, hand on his revolver.

The other Mounties followed his lead and prepared to pull out their Winchester's should the need arise. Murdoch unlatched the strap to the holster of his own trusty revolver, a well worn Smith and Wesson. He was a man of reason and intellect and preferred not to draw unless absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, violence was the usual outcome in his line of work. He had the scars to prove it, not all of which were physical.

They stared each other down for awhile and then O'Shea smirked and gestured to the lads to back off. As Murdoch and the Mounties slowly passed through the narrow opening into the camp, Murdoch made sure to observe every man's features. If the fugitives were disguised as he suspected, they could very well be any of them. But since Gillies and Perry were both fairly slight of build and most of these men were not, Murdoch was able to quickly narrow his search to just a select few.

Without warning Jasper was in his ear. "I don't believe any of these fellows are our men."

"I concur," he agreed after a moment.

It didn't take long to pass by the ratty tents and circle round the fire pit.

"Ye boys satisfied yet?" called their leader.

"Well, Murdoch?" asked Brackenreid. "Are we?"

"Not quite, Colonel," he replied, descending from his horse. While the Mounties kept watch on the rest of them, Murdoch began poking his head into every darkened tent, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He sighed when he didn't find a single clue to suggest the fugitives had ever even been here. If not here, then where? Had he perhaps been wrong about them taking the train after all? Or were they in an entirely different part of Alberta by now? Or for that matter, an entirely different country. If that was the case, he would probably never locate them.

Somewhat despondent, Murdoch got back on his horse and nodded to Brackenreid that it was time to leave. Once safely outside of the camp Brackenreid turned his horse around and addressed the unruly looking crowd at large.

"You got lucky this time, O'Shea," he boomed. "But if I _ever_ hear about you lot terrorizing Giles' place again, or _any_ place for that matter, you'll get another taste of the black glove. And next time I won't go so easy on you."

"I'm shiverin' in me timbers, Brackenreid," was the snarky response.

One last glare and they left the wretches to their own devices.

* * *

It was now high noon and right in the centre of Calgary a crowd had formed, encircling a man with a cart and various different sized bottles on it.

"Now what?" groaned Brackenreid, rubbing his face in consternation.

"Colonel?"

"Every time that bloody train comes in, there's always something else to deal with."

Brackenreid halted his men far enough back and off to the side so that the young, light brown haired man couldn't see them but close enough so that they could hear what he was saying.

The man held out his hands in a supplicating manner. "I stand before you a simple man, a modest man, a visionary of our time."

Jasper and Murdoch shared a look.

"This should be good," said Brackenreid, relaxing a bit in his saddle.

The man picked up a small, clear bottle from the top shelf of the cart. "I hold here the answer to life itself! A warder of death and disease! An elixir to every known ailment!"

"Highly unlikely," said Jasper.

"I'll eat my hat if that's true," said another Mountie.

"What's an elixir?" said Perkins.

This would not be the first time Murdoch had come across an opportunist making such far fetched claims to who he no doubt thought were less than educated people. Indeed, some of them seemed eager to get their hands on one of the little bottles.

_They better stay away_, he thought. _More likely than not it's poisonous._

"You may well scoff at such a notion," continued the would be medicine man, "many have done so in the past. But they all, every last one of them," he pointed to various different people in the crowd in a deadly serious nature, "came to realize the wondrous healing properties of my elixir. Men have sought the world over for a taste of immortality. And none have succeeded. Until now. For the paltry sum of five dollars, I offer you the chance to attain everlasting life!"

"All right then, lads," said Brackenreid, "let's break this up."

The Mounties moved into view and the man looked up, smile freezing in place. The townsfolk parted so that Brackenreid could stand face to face with the man. It was then that Murdoch recognized Ruby with pen and paper in hand, making notes every few seconds. She was also standing beside an expensive looking camera, and he had little doubt that it belonged to her. Ruby noticed him too and smiled, all the strife of the previous night apparently forgiven.

"Good day, sir," the man said politely enough, though Murdoch detected a note of nervousness. The man shook the little bottle that said '_Henry's Most Extraordinary and Fantastic Elixir of Life_' in front of Brackenreid's face. "Would you care to be the first to try my elixir?"

Brackenreid took it out of his hand and unstoppered it.

Henry held his hand out. "Not so hasty, sir, I must insist on payment fir-"

Brackenreid gave him a withering look and Henry held his tongue. The Colonel sniffed at the contents. "Oye, Jasper, what do you make of this?"

Jasper descended his horse too and investigated the liquid. First he sniffed it just as Brackenreid had done and then to Murdoch's disbelief, and Henry's consternation, he drank some of it.

"Now, really!" complained Henry.

"Well?" enquired the chief.

"By my estimation, sir, this is nothing more than salt water with a little vodka thrown in for good measure." Jasper made a face. "Not even very good vodka at that."

"I assure you that you are quite mistaken, sir," said Henry, smile now very forced. "My elixir is made of a whole host of holistic and rare elements that I have spent my entire adult life developing," Murdoch estimated he was about twenty-one, "and I resent the implica-"

Brackenreid gave him another withering look. "All right, then, Mr..."

"It's Higgins."

"All right then, Mr. Hibbons..."

"_Higgins_."

"...if you give me the full list of ingredients right this moment I won't lock you up for attempting to swindle this lot out of their life savings."

"Surely, sir," he said in a condescending tone, "you see that I cannot do that. I cannot give up my hard won secrets so easily. Put yourself in my shoes-"

"Rather not, they look pretty slimy to me."

Henry's face ticked.

"Take him away boys."

Henry looked like a cornered animal now and Murdoch knew very well what was coming. The desperate man pushed through the crowd and tried to make a break for it. Where? Murdoch didn't know considering there really wasn't anywhere to hide in town. But fear made people do strange things and the Colonel was an intimidating man.

"Stop you daft bastard!" called Brackenreid.

"Allow me, Colonel," said Murdoch, patting his lasso.

"By all means, Murdoch," said Brackenreid graciously, "he's yours."

Murdoch giddy-uped his horse in pursuit of the suspect, like he had done several times before. Henry heard his approach and began sprinting faster to nowhere. When Murdoch was closer, he retrieved his lasso, twirling it, preparing to make his take down. Just as he was about to release the rope, Henry dashed in between the butchers and the livery, effectively cutting off his attack.

Murdoch continued round to the other side of the buildings and heard a loud thump. He approached to find George and Henry scrabbling on the ground, the former attempting to subdue the latter by tying his hands behind his back with a piece of string.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Murdoch," said George pleasantly when he saw him there. Henry started slithering around like the snake he was, so George nonchalantly put him in a sleeper hold. "I'm sure you will be pleased to hear that I have completed the alterations to your suit."

Brackenreid and Jasper had come over to see what was taking so long. Ruby was also approaching, but much slower then the men owing to the fact that she was hefting her camera along.

"Bloody hell, Crabtree!" the Colonel said, shaking his head and chuckling. "Let the poor bugger breathe!"

Henry had gone limp from George's overeager assistance. George poked him a few times.

"He's not dead, is he?"

_Any tighter and he would have been._

"No, Mr. Crabtree," said Murdoch, "he is still breathing."

"That's good to hear," he said. George dusted himself off and patted his stomach. "Well, I'm off to have my lunch!"

Ruby reached them then and exchanged pleasantries with the tailor who stood by as she took a photograph of the tied up and unconscious man. Without being asked, George picked up the camera with one hand and proffered the other arm to Ruby who gladly accepted it. They walked off laughing about recent events. Suddenly Murdoch desired to do very much the same thing with the other Ogden sister. And since there were no leads to follow at the moment and he too was hungry, he went in search of Julia.

* * *

**George always gets his man. :p**


	5. Chapter 5

Murdoch deposited his black stead in the stable and then went into the main ranch house without knocking. Unlike the previous night, no dishes had been laid out and there was no heavenly meat to consume.

"Miss Ogden?" he called.

At his insistence they had reverted back to more acceptable terms of address. After his unasked for fantasy though, he was seriously contemplating another reversal.

No one responded after a second prompt so he exited the house and approached the young teenage boy keeping watch of the roaming horses in one of the paddocks. The freckled boy wearing a large cowboy hat (similar to the one he himself had rejected) was sitting on the fence looking bored. Murdoch couldn't blame him. The horses weren't doing anything particularly interesting.

"Help you mister?"

"Good day. My name is William. And you are?"

"Simon. Simon Whitfield. You're that city feller, right? The one tracking them killers?"

"Indeed," he said with a small forced smile, somewhat annoyed that Julia had informed the boy of this. "And I was wondering if you could tell me where Miss Ogden is?"

"Which one?" he astutely returned.

"The eldest sister."

"Well, it's Wednesday," Simon said as if that explained everything. Seeing that Murdoch didn't get it, "Miss Julia always goes down to the saloon on Wednesdays."

"Oh, I see," said Murdoch, not seeing at all. It really wasn't his place to pry further but he couldn't help himself. "And may I ask why she does that?"

Simon shrugged. "She just tells me to keep an eye on the place." For the first time he became a bit animated and he puffed out his chest in a reminiscent manner to the Colonel. Murdoch stifled a smile. "Miss Julia says I'm the only one she can trust to do the job proper. Says I'll make a fine rancher one day." He grinned, "And tomorrow I get to uncork my first Bronc."

_You are going to break in a wild horse?_

Murdoch was familiar with this terminology only because he too had worked on a ranch as a teenager. And he wasn't sure this scrawny thirteen or fourteen year old boy was really up to such a demanding task, but as he very well knew by now, appearances could be deceiving.

"I wish you the best of luck in your endeavour," he said with a genuine smile. "However, I must caution you against overzealous manipulation of the reins"..._that way leads to disaster. _"Your instinct will be to do just that. But you must attempt to utilize your thighs more than anything else to keep your balance. The...Bronc will be less tempted to buck if you do not pull on its head too often."

The boy scrunched up his face. "You talk funny mister, like that Jasper feller. Kinda look like him too now that I think about it. He your cousin?"

The idea was laughable. No member of the Murdoch clan had ever come out this far...and certainly not his abusive alcoholic father who had drunk himself into an early grave...to the joy of all.

"Not that I am aware of," he said politely enough.

* * *

Though he was curious as to what Julia could possibly be up to at the Saloon midday, he nevertheless headed back to town (after helping himself to some dried goods from the Ogden pantry) to continue his investigation for the fugitives. Before leaving the ranch he had also grabbed a tan cowboy hat because a few hours in the unrelenting sun here had been quite enough for him.

For the next little while Murdoch went round the town with the wanted poster in the hopes that someone might recognize Perry and Gillies. Whether or not anyone could tell him where they had been heading was only of secondary concern. Primarily, he desired to confirm the fugitives actual physical presence in the town. If they had never even been here then it was time to telegraph Mr. Ogden and inform him of his failure. And the more people he spoke to, the more it was looking like he'd have to do just that.

Then inspiration struck. It was a long shot but it was better than nothing.

Murdoch pushed open the door to the printing shack to find Ruby busy writing up her account of the medicine man fiasco. At least, that's what he assumed she was working on.

"Wil- Mr. Murdoch," she greeted with a smile, putting her pen down. "You are looking very dashing. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I noticed earlier that you have a camera, Miss Ogden. Did you by any chance happen to take any photographs the day you arrived in Calgary?"

"Why, yes as a matter of fact I did. Quite a few. Why do you ask?"

"Have you managed to develop them yet?"

This printing shack didn't have a dark room, so unless she had set up shop somewhere else, he didn't think it very likely.

"Actually, yes, I have. George fancies himself a bit of a photographer and he has been allowing me to make use of the dark room in his home."

For once some good news. He wouldn't have to waste hours developing all of them.

Ruby smirked. "Just between you and me, he still has a lot to learn."

Somehow he suspected she was not just referring to photography but chose not to comment.

"May I see these photographs?"

"Of course, Mr. Murdoch," she replied, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottom folder. "I must warn you that most of these are exceedingly dull."

"That's fine," he said, spreading them out on the writing table.

"What are you looking for exactly? Perhaps I can help speed up your search?"

"If Gillies and Perry arrived at the same time as you, then perhaps you managed to catch them on camera."

She gave him an apologetic look. "Not to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Murdoch, but I have already looked through these photographs for just such a purpose. I don't recall seeing them."

"Nevertheless, I would like to take a look."

Ruby shrugged and went back to writing. He retrieved his magnifying glass and hunched over each picture. As he was doing this, he became aware of Ruby's flowery perfume and how nice she smelled. The contrast to her sister was quite stark and yet...he still only found himself attracted to Julia.

Twenty minutes or so later he exclaimed, "Aha!" prompting Ruby to mess up her current sentence.

Amused, "I take it you have discovered something that I have missed?"

"I believe so," he said, trying to contain his excitement. As far as he was concerned, this was the first tangible clue in weeks. Murdoch held out the magnifying glass for Ruby and pointed to the backdrop of one of the shots. "There, in front of the livery."

Ruby looked and said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't see the resemblance." ***Glaring plot hole alert***

"You wouldn't," he said a bit smugly, arms crossed. "All along I have suspected them to be wearing disguises. And now I have the proof of it!"

"So, you're telling me that one of those ruthless killers _willingly_ dressed up like a woman...corset and all?" she said in a sceptical manner typical of a reporter. "Doesn't that seem a tad far fetched, Mr. Murdoch?"

"Not at all, Miss Ogden. In my line of work one comes across all sorts of strange behaviour. Allow me to explain my reasoning."

"By all means," she said, turning in her seat, hands in lap. "I am all ears."

"When your father first hired me I took the liberty of looking into Gillies background."

"Sounds logical," she said with a nod.

"Before dropping out, he was taking a course in dramatics at the University of Toronto. The idea to play 'dress up' as a woman would not have been foreign to him." He gestured to the photograph. "Likely he had Perry act as his brother and escort, and therefore no one would have questioned their presence on the train. This is why the constabulary had been unsuccessful in their search. Not because they were never there but because they were hiding in plain sight!"

Despite his emphatic way, Ruby did not seem to be convinced, which irritated him a bit. "Please, allow me to prove my theory once and for all." He held out his hand. "I am certain the livery hand will validate my seemingly far fetched notions."

* * *

The livery was typical fare; dark, dirty and smelly. They needed decent light for photograph perusal. As such, he requested to speak with the hired hand outside of the stable and away from his duties, much to the man's annoyance. Though being Indian, he did his best to conceal this, probably thinking it wasn't his place to speak out of turn to a white man, even though he was no slave and they were the trespassers on his birth right.

"How can I be of further assistance to you, sir?" He tipped his bowler* in Ruby's direction. "Miss Ogden."

"Hello Jimmy," she said holding out her hand. He hesitated before taking it. In 'civilized' society, such a thing would have been unheard of. Murdoch was pleased that Ruby wasn't prone to all the misplaced hatred of their ancestors.

"Jimmy, I would like you to take another look at the wanted poster."

"All right, sir." After a moment, "Still don't recognize them I'm afraid."

"What if I told you that I have proof that you had in fact dealt with the fugitives?"

Jimmy's body posture stiffened. "I assure you, sir, I did not attend to them."

"Have no fear, Jimmy," said Ruby, placing a calming hand to his forearm. "Mr. Murdoch is not accusing you of withholding the truth." She glanced sideways at him, "Isn't that right?"

Murdoch smiled and held out his magnifying glass and the photograph from two weeks ago. "Their disguises were very misleading. Please, take your time comparing the two."

Jimmy took it and studied it for a time. "I suppose that fellow loading the carriage must be me. As to the other two..." He took another long look at the depictions on the wanted poster. "You know what, Mr. Murdoch," comprehension began to dawn on his face, "I think you're on to something here. I couldn't see it at first, but yes, there is a sort of resemblance between them."

Murdoch caught Ruby's eye and saw that she was finally coming around to his line of thinking. "But," Jimmy pointed to the partial and somewhat blurry picture of Perry, "he had styled and dyed his hair a different colour than the one in the description here. As well, he was wearing a full beard and brown tinted spectacles. And he," Jimmy pointed to Gillies, "well, I think you can understand why I did not see the resemblance earlier."

The livery hand looked towards the insistent neighing of one of his charges.

"I just have a few more questions, Jimmy, and then you can get back to work."

Jimmy nodded. "What else do you want to know?"

"What names were they going by?"

"Johnson, I believe. Mary and Clarke."

"Did they mention where they were headed?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Yes, as a matter of fact, they did. While I was loading up their things, I think they said something about Lethbridge, about Mr. Johnson, or rather, Perry working at the...North Western Coal and Navigation Company." Jimmy paused overly long. "About starting a family there."

Murdoch and Ruby shared a bewildered look. "A family? I was under the impression they were posing as brother and sister."

Jimmy shook his head adamantly. "No, sir, they definitely were pretending to be married. Rings and all." He made a face. "I did wonder at the fellow's choice of bride. She wasn't the prettiest creature I had ever seen. Far too much rouge for my liking. And now I know why." He shivered. "Strange to be in the presence of killers and not even know it."

_Indeed_, he thought, _and you still are_.

* * *

***Apparently the bowler hat was actually the hat of choice in the American West. So Bat Masterson wearing it was completely accurate.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Seriously? No one commented on the whole _glaring plot hole alert_ thing? :p**

* * *

To have confirmation that Perry and Gillies had indeed been in Calgary was a wonderful feeling and he couldn't help but smile as he bade goodbye to Ruby. Of course, he was still none the wiser as to where they _presently_ were. He highly doubted they had actually gone to Lethbridge. All along they had been mastering the art of deception and misdirection. It would simply be too easy.

"But maybe that's precisely what they _want_ you to think," said Brackenreid as they walked around the dusty barracks courtyard. The men were doing training exercises and every once in awhile the Colonel barked out an order. More times than not he reprimanded Perkins, and the other Mounties snickered, with the exception of Jasper, who usually attempted to help him correct his mistake.

"How do you mean?"

"I haven't known you long, Murdoch, but I get the distinct impression that you're the type of bloke who over thinks things." He tapped his own forehead. "And lives in the old noggin'. My father was like that too. Drove my mum nuts." He patted Murdoch's shoulder. "Sometimes things _are_ as simple as they seem."

_Occam's razor._

"Be that as it may, I highly doubt they would lead me straight to them."

"Why not? If I wanted to get rid of my tail, I would drop breadcrumbs for him to follow, lay in wait and," he punched into his palm, "bam. Problem solved."

_It would not be the first time a fugitive has tried this._

Murdoch frowned. "That is the _exact_ opposite of the logic statement you began with."

Brackenreid chuckled. "Yes, I suppose it is." He grinned. "I didn't get where I am today by over thinking things." There was a loud bang as Perkins accidentally discharged his rifle very close to them, exploding a water barrel, nearly drenching them. "Oye, you bloody half wit!" he growled. "Just for that give me ten more laps around the barracks!"

"But sir!"

"Now! Or it's the black glove you'll get! And when I'm through with you even the bloody trollops won't let you near them!"

"Sir!" exclaimed Perkins, as he began jogging.

"Think about it this way, Murdoch. There's only one way to find out for sure. You _have_ to go there."

_Not quite._

Murdoch had yet to speak with the carriage driver. If the man told him they had indeed gone to Lethbridge, then he would follow, ever wary of an ambush. If he confessed to driving them someplace else, Murdoch would follow and hopefully close this case soon. If the driver was not in town currently, and wouldn't be available for questioning for some time, then he would still go to Lethbridge. The alternative was to aimlessly roam the countryside until he succeeded in locating the fugitives. Seeing as this could take weeks, if not months, it was hardly something he wanted to do. But Murdoch would see this thing through, one way or another, just as he always had.

Thankfully, according to the livery proprietor, the driver in question, one Samuel Stockton _would_ be back in town sometime tomorrow.

Now the question became, how should he occupy himself until then?

* * *

To thank Ruby for her help, he spent the next hour tinkering away at the printing press. It turned out that one of the springs had sprung and once he repaired it, the press worked like new. She could now manipulate the machinery with relative ease for someone her size and strength.

"How did you learn how to do that?" she asked him afterwards.

"I often have time to spare so I read whatever I can get my hands on. A repair manual for various different types of presses happened to be one of these reading materials."

_Nearly five years ago._

"I would think that sort of subject matter terribly dry." She smiled, "But I am most glad that you did not. Thank you, William." He made to correct her but she continued, "No more of that nonsense." She touched his hand. "We are friends now. Let us act like it."

"All right...Ruby," he eventually relented, feeling oddly out of sorts for some unknown reason.

With that task completed, he finally picked up his suit from _Crabtree's Classic Cuts_. It fit like a glove now, which he supposed made him look more suave than usual, but was also not terribly comfortable, and made him flash back to Julia's words about how ludicrous corsets were. Not eager to deal with another manhandling by George, he simply paid what was owed and left. At least, he tried to leave, but George insisted on giving him a shave to go with his 'new' duds. And thus Murdoch narrowly avoided having his jugular sliced by the barber's erratic and animated movements. Apparently, George was very indebted to a myriad of aunts who taught him everything he knew and the barber wanted everyone he ever met to know this.

Around four he made his way back to the Ogden ranch. He briefly watched as the ranch hands went about their various chores, and then found Julia in the stable, brushing out the hair of her grey stallion. She seemed so at peace with the world that he couldn't help but stop and stare. It had been a long time since he had felt the way that she looked. So hesitant was he to break the tranquillity of the moment that he considered going back out the way he came. But too late, she had already noticed him standing there.

She smiled and he could feel an inviting warmth inexplicably pull him closer. "Mr. Murdoch."

"Miss Ogden," he said, tipping his cowboy hat.

He led his horse towards her and she got an amused look in her eye. "There are few who can deny George anything." He raised an eyebrow. "I couldn't help but notice your stiffer than usual movements."

Stiffer than usual? Is that what she thought of him? A stick in the mud?

"Yes," he said somewhat stiffly, "Mr. Crabtree is if nothing else, quite tenacious."

There was a bit of an awkward silence that Julia seemed unaware of. She stood up and said, "You're just in time, Mr. Murdoch."

"Oh?"

"There is to be a barn raising in less than half an hours time down at the Wilson's farm. The boys and I will be going there shortly. Would you care to assist us?"

Murdoch wanted to make an excuse but couldn't come up with one on the spot and had no choice but to accept her offer.

"It would be my pleasure."

* * *

He estimated about a quarter of the towns populace and surrounding areas was there for this relatively mundane event. Only a few hours ago he had interviewed most of these men and therefore he did not feel like a complete outsider as the raising commenced. The construction of the barn had already been underway for some time before they had arrived and they were more or less just helping with the heavy lifting, that is to say, pulling on sturdy ropes to lift the sides of the structure upright. For this reason he removed his constrictive clothing, draping it over the side of a nearby fence.

Murdoch took a rope beside Julia and Mr. Wilson signalled for everyone to pull. The group of ten or so strained for several seconds before gaining purchase and then slowly, ever so slowly, hefted the weighty object ever skyward. Once this was completed, they were given a few minutes respite before attempting the next side. Before they began, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows; anything to cool himself off a bit.

While they were lifting this side of the barn up, he noticed Julia's gaze directed towards him on more than one occasion. When he caught her at it, she smiled and huffed, "Quite the invigorating experience, is it not, Mr. Murdoch?"

Something about her words made him flash back to the uncouth conversation about connections. Matters were not helped when he became aware of the rivulets of sweat snaking their way down her open collar and into darkened delights.

As a certain tantalizing fantasy made itself loudly known again, he fumbled on the rope and nearly dropped it.

"Mr. Murdoch? Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly fine, Miss Ogden, perfectly fine."

Once the barn raising was completed, The Wilson's treated the helpers to a decent meal, though hardly what one would call a feast. There were too many to fit in their small dining room, so they instead formed a haphazard circle in the grass and gratefully dug into the meat and potatoes.

Julia was casually lying there, propped up on her side. "Simon informed me of your visit this afternoon." She observed him closely for a few seconds and he wondered if she was waiting for him to question her about her absence. He decided that if she wanted to tell him, she would. Otherwise it was none of his business. "Has there been a development in the case?"

At the time of his visit, no there had not been. He had simply wanted to see her. But her question was posed in such a way as to allow him to answer without telling the whole truth.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there has."

Briefly he filled her in. She wrinkled her nose at the mention of Stockton. "What a vile man."

"Oh? How so?"

She gave him a dark look. "We have had our share of...misunderstandings." Julia smiled grimly. "He would be wise not to make another...mistake around me. You would do well to steer clear of him."

"Unfortunately I cannot. He is the only connection to the fugitives that I have been able to ascertain as of yet."

Julia chewed on a piece of meat for a time and he found himself mesmerized by her lips. "Forgive me for asking such a disagreeable thing, Mr. Murdoch, but I find myself far too curious." She paused and fiddled with her silver horse necklace again. "Have you ever killed a man?"

He didn't want to admit this outright so instead he said, "The nature of my profession forces me to do many things, some more unsavoury than others."

"Does that not bother you?" she asked, studying his face anew.

Murdoch didn't like this close scrutiny and glanced into the distance where the sun was at half mast. "I do my best not to dwell on the past. Such a thing serves no useful purpose."

They finished their meal in silence, with the exception of everyone else's chattering and the continuous sound of crickets just out of reach.

Then when he figured it was time to go 'home', some women arrived, presumably the men's wives, and Mrs. Wilson announced the square dance would be starting soon and that they should pick their partners.

Now _this_ was the precise reason he had not wanted to come to this raising. He knew from past experience that a dance was sometimes conducted at the end of the evening; a dance he was none too proficient at. It was Murdoch's lifelong goal to avoid looking the fool at all costs. This announcement set alarm bells ringing off and it was all he could do not to flee right then and there.

Julia laughed when she caught his expression. "Come now, Mr. Murdoch," she said, grabbing his bicep, securing his doom, "dancing is not _that _terrifying, is it?" She squeezed his bicep. "Don't worry, I shall be there every step of the way." _How can you? this is square dancing, not the waltz! _"Simply follow my lead."

He decided there was no point in telling her that women did not lead, especially in square dancing. Julia did what she pleased. He was already aware of this, and strangely, found himself admiring this trait. Murdoch could barely fathom being so unencumbered and free all the time. Ironically, he would almost think it a burden.

They took their places side by side in the barn that they had just constructed and Mr. Wilson began playing a lively and popular jig on his fiddle called Cotton-Eyed Joe. Keeping with the beat, Mrs. Wilson began shouting out directions for them to follow with the other three couples. This in itself would not have been too confusing had it not been for Julia's insistence at taking his role. Because of this, he was constantly having to rethink his movements before he accidentally followed the directions first. He was beginning to understand why no one else had jumped at the opportunity to dance with her.

When the swing step was called, Murdoch took charge and led for once. Julia seemed surprised at first but then pleased. With his hand on her back, he was once again reminded of the lack of corset there, which once again led to distracting thoughts and he banged into the lady approaching him during weave the ring. This set her to falling and chaos for the other partners. Full of consternation, he attempted to rectify his mistake but the other men had already done so. They were all staring at him, and the music had stopped, which was embarrassing, but mostly he was annoyed with Julia's look of amusement. Like a petulant child he wanted to storm out of there in protest at being made to do something he didn't want to do. Instead he apologized and they resumed the dance, everyone keeping a wary eye on him at all times.

Finally the cursed dance ended.

Julia grinned and said, "Apart from trampling Mrs. Alderam, you did quite well Mr. Murdoch."

He gave her the stink eye and was about to say something, when a waltz started up and out of instinct he took her in his arms. Now this was something he was more accustomed to doing. He often times was invited to client's balls after completing his assignments.

After a time, "I must say, Mr. Murdoch, I am impressed. You are comporting yourself like a true gentleman."

"I'm not sure I am following your meaning Miss Ogden."

She smirked. "Most men I dance with suffer from," she chuckled, "wandering hand syndrome. One of the burdens of not wearing a corset I'm afraid."

"Regardless of what you choose to wear, or not wear, Miss Ogden," he replied with a frown, "that is hardly an excuse for unseemly behaviour."

"It's been awhile since I met someone so sensible." The smirk widened. "More's the pity in your case." He just looked at her confused so she spelled it out for him. "You may hold me closer if you so desire, Mr. Murdoch."

Of course he desired to, very much so, but he was afraid of turning into one of those other men who attempted to take liberties with her. So to both of their disappointments, he kept her at arms length for the rest of the night.

* * *

**Even after researching it a bit, I'm not really sure what square dancing entailed back then so I just left it fairly modern with a caller and everything. George's romp in Republic of Murdoch was a little too uncivilized for my purposes, but I'm sure this Julia would have no problem stomping around like that if she wanted to. ;)  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**I've again made some modifications to some previous chapters (specifically 4) but you don't need to check them out. Basically, instead of Murdoch having virtually no sexual experience, he has considerably more than this. Which is why this chapter is a bit M-ish. Happy Valentine's Day! ;)**

* * *

Murdoch tossed and turned for hours, unable to get a moment's rest. The thought of Julia in nothing but a negligee in the next room was driving him mad. It had been quite awhile since his last intimate encounter in Halifax. For a week he had been working a case involving the missing son of a wealthy and demanding harbour master. Every fruitless night he would go to the same pub and order a spruce beer. Just the one to take the edge off of the growing tension he felt building within his chest. Eventually he got to talking to the attractive bar maid, Anna Fulford. One thing led to another, and afterwards he had felt like a new man again, ready to take on the world. He solved the case shortly thereafter and was assigned a new one in New York City. He never saw her again.

Murdoch didn't like the idea of using women in this way. He would much prefer to be married and have the act sanctioned in the eyes of his Lord and Saviour. Unfortunately, given the nature of his job and the never-ending travelling, this was simply not a practical solution. Assuming he stayed in one location long enough to actually fall in love and propose marriage - and this was a big if- his blushing bride would then either be dragged all across North America in order to perform her wifely duties, (something he doubted she would put up with for very long considering the less than ideal circumstances he often found himself in), or she would stay at home, wherever that may be, and he would rarely ever see her. In both cases his dilemma would hardly be solved. If anything marriage would only serve to make the problem worse.

The undeniable truth was that he was only human and could only hold out for so long in-between sexual encounters. Of course, he could simply acquire the services of a lady of the night to tend to his needs, and he knew where several of them currently where, but Murdoch had never been able to stoop to the level of paying some unfortunate soul to satisfy the needs of his flesh. To him, such a thing was almost a greater sin than the act itself. And then he always had so much trouble locating a priest to repent to and he would be forced to feel guilty for days, if not weeks after the fact. Not that the guilt ever really went away...but confessing at least helped to alleviate it somewhat.

Lately when he got like this - desperately aroused - he would consider changing professions. But he had been doing this for so long and it was such a part of his being that he wasn't sure he _could_ do anything else. And if he did, then who would bring all the fugitives and murderers to justice? Not that he was bragging, but he oftentimes saw things that no one else did. And that is precisely why they had called him in for this case.

He flopped around a bit more and then decided he had to take matters into his own hands. Once he self pleasured himself, he would hopefully drift off into a deep sleep and be bright eyed and ready for the trials of the new day. While only a temporary fix, it was better than nothing.

Whilst he was in the midst of this 'chore', he heard a creak just outside his door. Murdoch stopped what he was doing and listened keenly for several seconds. When he didn't hear anything else he resumed his previous activity. Then came another creak and he figured whoever had gone passed to use the water closet had now returned to their room. After a third creak however, he became so fed up with this disturbance that he decided to go investigate. He was nearly at his door when it opened of its own accord.

Julia stood there in a simple cotton nightgown, hardly the vision he had been fantasizing about. Even so, she looked more ravishing than ever before, with her luxurious hair flowing freely, that it was an extreme effort not to do something untoward right then and there.

She smiled and said, "Good, you're awake," and then pushed him back into the room.

"Miss Ogden, what are you doing?" he feebly protested, while silently thanking God and then asking for forgiveness for invoking His name in such an affair.

She rolled her eyes. "I would have thought that obvious, William," she replied, still edging him back towards the bed, like she was herding a team of horses to greener pastures.

He wanted nothing more than to take her right there but he still had reservations about it, or at least his conscience demanded he at least _pretend_ to have reservations about it.

"We barely know one another. And you are the daughter of my client. A liaison between us would not be prudent...and what of your sister? She may overhear something impolite..."

Julia ignored all this and said, "I can always tell when men are attracted to me. And I feel it is my obligation to inform you that you do not hide your desires nearly as well as you think." She looked down to the bulge in his pyjamas and smirked. "Case in point. Now then," she continued, invading his personal space, for once smelling nice, "shall we get on with this or do you have another asinine objection?"

_Heaven's no_.

Murdoch kissed her soundly and without thinking about what he was doing grabbed her by the waist and crushed their hips together. The pressure on his groin made him groan and he fell back into the bed, taking her with him. As they continued to kiss, he rolled her over onto her back to relieve some of the tension down below. Julia did not seem to like this arrangement very much and with more strength than he was accustomed to, rolled them back to their starting position. Her hair got in his face again, but unlike on the horse ride, he couldn't have cared less. She pushed off of him so that she was straddling him, and quickly undid the buttons to his top. Then she tugged off her nightgown revealing nothing whatsoever beneath save for her horse necklace, and pressed their bare torso's together. At this point his body reacted of its own accord and tried to thrust into her, only to become cognizant of the fact of that he still wore trousers.

"Allow me to assist you," she muttered, reaching down.

* * *

"Allow me to assist you," he said the next morning at breakfast, handing over the water pitcher.

Julia rolled her eyes and took it from him. Then she caught his eye and smiled slightly and he smiled right back, albeit smugly.

They ate their oatmeal and berries in silence, every few seconds he would inadvertently look over at her. It was hard to believe that only hours ago she had been writhing around beneath him. If it weren't for the way she was behaving now, and how satisfied he felt, he would have taken it all for a wonderful dream.

"Would you please desist?" she said, in a poor attempt at sounding stern.

He took another bite of oatmeal, chewed slowly and looked up, this time catching her watching him. She looked away quickly and pretended to be absorbed with her food some more, poking at it but not actually eating any of it.

"Something on your mind, Julia?" He grinned. "_Someone_?"

She huffed and glared. "If I had known you were going to gloat to this extent, I would never have even _thought_ of seducing you. Vanity is a most unattractive quality." Murdoch simply smiled some more which served to infuriate her further. "You do realize that I only picked you to tend to my needs because you were on hand? It had nothing to do with how handsome you are."

Julia closed her eyes in consternation, gripping her spoon tightly. When she looked over again he was smirking to such an extent that she threw said spoon at his head. He nimbly dodged it and then hopped out of his chair and grabbed her wrist, pulling her upwards so that they were face to face. Murdoch was pleased to note that her breath had hitched at the contact and she could barely look away from his lips.

"I would advise caution, Julia," he said. "Lest you damage my handsome features."

"Oh, you are hopeless!" she returned, yanking her hand away from him. Then she grit her teeth as if deciding something and grabbed him by the collar, kissing him with heated intensity. He wrapped her in his arms and pushed her against the wall, trailing kisses down her jaw and settling in comfortably on her supple neck. His excitement mounted as her breathing quickened and his wandering hands found their way to her firm backside. She moaned into his ear as he squeezed her through the rough fabric of her trousers.

This was the scene that Ruby walked into.

"Well, I _was_ going to pretend I did not hear anything last night, but now it seems there is little point."

They jumped apart from one another to behold the amused expression of the other Ogden sister. It had been awhile since he found himself in such an awkward predicament. Ruby nonchalantly went over to the table and served herself some oatmeal from the pot.

When they had yet to move she said, "I dare say you should finish what you started, William. No doubt Jules is in dire need of relieving all of that pent up aggression she is so fond of carrying around."

Murdoch and Julia shared a furtive look and then glanced away.

"Suddenly you are both bashful? How endearing. From the sounds of things last night, you were anything but. I wouldn't be surprised if the help got an ear full too."

"That is enough, Ruby," said Julia, finally finding her voice. "You would do well to remember your place."

"And what place is that?" she replied, the ice quickly building between them. "An unwanted third party? Did you consider for _one_ moment that I perhaps did not want to listen to my _sister_ carrying on a very _loud_ dalliance in the _next_ room?"

The verbal slap landed well and Julia flinched in response.

Murdoch was wise enough not to point out that he had taken this into consideration.

"It was not me who should have been forced to seek refuge in the stables like a commoner."

Julia was silent for a time and then walked over to her sister's side and took her hand. "You are right, Ruby. I am sorry for my lack of consideration. And deplorable conduct. Rest assured that it will not happen again."

_So that is it_? he thought dejectedly. _I will never have carnal knowledge of her again_?

He had been with a number of women in his thirty-five years of life. But there was something special about Julia, some indescribable quality that had him yearning for her warm embrace already, had him eager to sin anew.

Ruby nodded once. "Your apology will be taken into consideration."

Julia huffed and said stonily, "I have chores to attend to," and stormed out.

Unsure of what to do with himself, he followed her like a small child forced to pick between fighting parents.

"What do you want?" she snapped at him in the laneway.

It was a good question, and he really had no idea how to answer it in words. So he kissed her instead.

Immediately she pushed away, incredulous. "Did you not hear what I _just_ said?!"

When he didn't respond she stormed off in the direction of the ranch hands accommodations, a little ways from the main ranch house. Murdoch wasn't sure how to salvage this situation so he got on his horse and left.

* * *

**Wasn't supposed to end up angsty. Thanks a lot Ruby! Clearly someone was just super jealous.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Nice ones, KTG. They sound strangely familiar to me. **

* * *

Murdoch had been waiting in town for about two hours for Samuel Stockton to arrive. Though he was a patient enough man, he didn't care for having idle hands, especially when his mind was not agreeably occupied. So he decided to go to the barracks to see if the NWMP needed his assistance in any local matters that might have cropped up over night.

"Some Red skins got a little too close to crossing into our territory. The night patrol sorted that out already though. So no," Brackenreid said with a smile, leaning back in his chair and placing his feet on the table, "there's nothing to do but have a smoke."

"I see," he said, shoulders slumping.

After retrieving his pipe and tobacco from across the table, Brackenreid squinted at him briefly. "You all right there, Murdoch? You look like you could use a nip or two. Or whatever it is you teetotaller types use to lift your spirits."

Murdoch didn't respond, but he also didn't make an excuse to leave.

"Come on then, man," Brackenreid said, tamping down the tobacco, "out with it."

He nodded once. "Tensions have been running high at The Ogden ranch. The sisters have not been getting along very well lately. I fear my presence has upset the natural order of things. Most assuredly I have been cast out from my lodgings there."

The Colonel shrugged and lit a match. He puffed on the pipe a few times till it started to smoke. "If that's all that's troubling you, Murdoch, you can just stay here. We've got more than enough bunks to go around." He smirked. "And there's always the cells of course. You could keep young Hobbins company if you'd like."

"I believe it was Higgins, Colonel."

Brackenreid released an impressive sized smoke ring and said, "In any case, I get the sense that you're not being fully forthcoming with me. A man like you would be used to roughing it. Something else is bothering you." The Colonel jabbed the pipe at him. "Don't deny it."

Clearly he wished to talk about this matter or he would not have divulged what he did. But his sense of propriety held him back and he awkwardly stood there avoiding the commanders piercing gaze.

"Oh is _that_ what this is all about?" Brackenreid chuckled. "You old dog!" His eyes were twinkling in delight. "Which one was it?"

"Colonel?" he said, taken aback.

"Which sister did you make the beast with two backs with?"

Murdoch cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I would rather not say."

"My money's on the eldest Ogden."

Murdoch's head whipped up, all but confirming this guess. "How did you know?"

"I may be getting on in years but my mind is still first rate," he said, tapping the side of his head with the bowl of the pipe. An ash smudge left its mark but Murdoch chose not to mention this. Brackenreid grinned, "Besides, it is common knowledge that the younger Miss Ogden has been carrying on with Crabtree." He made a face. "Bugger if I know what she sees in that jabbering monkey." He looked back to Murdoch, amused again. "I must say, Murdoch, I'm impressed with your quick work. Good on you, mate. She's a fine looking strumpet."

"Colonel, I must ask you to refrain from such names," he replied with a glare. "Julia is anything but."

"Ah, so there's the rub," Brackenreid said, nodding sagely. "I thought so." Smiling in an annoying know-it-all manner, "You're sweet on her, aren't you? That's why you're so down in the dumps at her tossing you out."

Technically she hadn't done so, he hadn't given her the chance. But very likely she would once he returned. _If_ he returned. As to him being sweet on her...was it possible after so little time? Obviously he was very attracted to her or last night wouldn't have happened. Had that brief encounter already blossomed into feelings that transcended the flesh?

"You may be correct in your assessment."

"Course I am," Brackenreid said, taking a nice long pull. "Listen, Murdoch, women are anything but simple. Trust me I know. I've been married for six years. If you want to right the ship, as it were, you'll just have to put aside your pride and go talk to her. There's no two ways about it. Women love to go on and on about their feelings. The good news is that you don't have to pay much attention to such claptrap. Just nod here and there and then afterwards agree with whatever it is they ask of you. Works every time."

Once more Murdoch marvelled at the fact that this man had somehow secured someone's hand in marriage. Then again, it was more than he himself had ever come close to achieving...so perhaps the colonel was on to something? At any rate, whether or not he took Brackenreid's advice to heart, he would indeed need to speak with Julia. And soon. If he left things unspoken until after he returned from securing the fugitives, the situation could be considerably worse.

* * *

With that thought in mind, he decided to bite the bullet and get it over with now. Little did he know he would encounter her even sooner than expected. For as he headed through town, there she was coming towards him. His heart fluttered at the prospect that she too had desired to speak with him. So consumed with this notion was he, that he didn't notice the boy sitting in front of her until he was much closer. Simon appeared to have injured himself and someone had constructed a crude sling to transport him into town. Clearly the horse breaking in did not go as smoothly as it could have.

When she saw him, she pretended as though she hadn't and led her stallion right passed him. He turned his horse around and came up beside her, keeping her slow pace, so as not to jostle the boys arm.

"Do you require assistance?"

"Does it look like I do?" she returned sharply, not making eye contact.

He changed tactics. "Hello, Simon. I take it the Bronc did not cooperate this morning."

The boy scrunched up his tear streaked face. "I was so close, mister. So close. If I could've held on just a little longer..." He snuffled a little more. "I would've had him."

"I am sure you will do better on your next attempt."

The boy smiled weakly and Murdoch saw that a tooth was missing. "You think so mister?"

"I see no reason why not. You will only get stronger from here on out."

"Don't encourage him," grumbled Julia. "He won't be doing that _ever_ again. It was foolish of me to agree to such a thing in the first place."

"You don't mean that, Miss Julia," said the boy mournfully. "You'll let me try again, soon as I'm all healed up. Won't you now?"

"No, I most certainly will not."

The boy looked to him, and Murdoch looked helplessly back. This was not his battle to be won.

Julia stopped outside of the small cabin that served as the doctor's office. She got off her horse and then lifted Simon down, once again refusing Murdoch's help.

Murdoch watched from his horse as the tall, dark haired man ushered them in. The doctor looked over at him.

"Mr. Murdoch," he greeted.

With a touch to his hat brim, "Dr. Garland."

"Never a dull moment where our Julia is concerned, is there?"

He glanced at her through the window. She had her back turned to him. "That does appear to be the case."

"Well, I best be tending to young Simon now."

"Yes, by all means."

For whatever reason, Murdoch decided to stay there and keep watch over the proceedings inside. He watched as Darcy examined the boys arm and face and then proceeded to pull out the necessary supplies to make a plaster of Paris cast. He watched as Julia assisted him, and noted how well they worked together, seamlessly, like a well oiled engine. He watched as Darcy brushed his hand against hers on more than one occasion, rather unnecessarily he thought. And finally he watched as Darcy ruffled the boys hair and then was hugged by Julia. Both of them. The hug she gave to Darcy seemed to be a very lingering and close one and without a corset the man would be feeling everything she had to offer, perhaps already had in a more intimate setting, on multiple occasions for all he knew, and suddenly Murdoch couldn't take the sight of them any longer and took his leave.

* * *

Shortly after this he realized that Jimmy was waving at him from over by the livery, trying to get his attention. Instantly Murdoch compartmentalized his emotions and went into detective mode. If this was what he thought it was about, he needed to be mentally present from here on out.

He trotted over there. "Mr. Murdoch, Sam's just come in." Jimmy gestured inside the livery to where a weather beaten carriage resided and a tottering older man, attempting to unleash the horses. Jimmy took a step closer and spoke more softly. "Just between you and me, sir, when he smells that strongly of rum, he's not the most accommodating of men. You may have trouble getting a straight answer out of him."

It wouldn't be the first time he had interviewed a booze hound. A firmer hand than usual might need to be employed, and considering Julia's less than favourable account of him, Murdoch would not be averse to such a scheme.

Murdoch nodded that he understood and descended his horse. Without being asked, or perhaps out of habit, Jimmy took the reins from him and led the beast over to the watering hole.

Murdoch entered the stuffy, smelly enclosure, sidestepping the recently deposited droppings from one of the new arrivals. Stockton was coming out of a stall, holding on to the sides as if he were about to pass out. Since Murdoch was in no mood to wait any longer to speak with the driver, he quickly got his attention.

"Mr. Stockton," he said, holding out his hand. The grey haired man stared at it like he had never seen such a gesture before in his life. Then slowly, very slowly, he took a hold of it. Murdoch did his best not to cringe at the clammy nature of his palm and afterwards resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his trousers. "Good day, sir, my name is William Murdoch and I have some questions to ask of you."

"What sort of questions?" There was an obvious slur to his accented voice. His breath reeked so strongly of alcohol that Murdoch had to take a step back. In fact, if they were to relocate to a more ventilated location, matters would be considerably improved. Unfortunately, Murdoch was certain if they tried to move that far, he would topple over, and Murdoch had no desire to touch the man further than he already had.

"My employers, The Pinkertons,"- the man's eyes narrowed, "have assigned me the task of locating and apprehending two fugitives." He pulled out the wanted poster and the man's eyes glazed over as he studied it, or didn't. "It is my understanding that you were the last person in town to directly deal with Mr. Perry and Mr. Gillies."

Stockton looked up at him uncomprehending and shoved the poster out of his face. This caused him to stagger but he managed to right himself with the aid of the stable door. "I don't know what you're going on about boy, but I've never seen those two toffs in my life!"

"They were disguised as husband and wife, going by the name of Johnson. Does that ring any bells, sir?"

"Can't say that it does," he said after a lengthy, suspicious pause.

"Come now, sir, the livery records indicate that you were the driver assigned to them on the twenty-fourth of August."

"All right, so I did my bleeding job!" Stockton tossed up his hands and this time he did fall over. Murdoch did not help him up. "What of it?"

"Now, this is very important Mr. Stockton, so listen carefully. Where did you take them?"

Stockton pushed himself into a sitting position. "Where they asked me to of course!"

"And where was that?"

"Don't you already know?" he said with a dismissive scowl. "The records would say."

"Yes, they intimate Lethbridge. But your less than forthcoming attitude has left me under the very strong impression that you did not in fact take them there."

"Well, I can't say nothing but that your impressions are worth horse shit! I took them to Lethbridge and that's all there's to say about that!"

"How much did they pay you to spin that tale?"

"Tale?! You're off your bleeding rocker you are!"

Murdoch smiled grimly and hoisted the man to his feet. Stockton's putrid breath was making his eyes water so he said what he had to say as succinctly as possible.

"If you lie to me again, sir, you will soon make the acquaintance of my fist."

He pushed him into the stall wall none too gently and Stockton fell over once more, glaring up at him. There was however, a hint of something approaching fear there as well. Perhaps the roughhousing had sobered him up enough to stop being a horses arse?

"One more time, Mr. Stockton," he said, looming over the elderly man in as menacing a manner as he could, "where did you take them?"

Stockton swallowed hard. "Red Deer. I took them to Red Deer."

"Thank you, sir." He walked a few paces away and then thought better of it and came straight back, pulling him to his feet again. This had not been done out of kindness. "If you ever lay another unwanted hand on Miss Ogden again, you will meet more than just my fist."

To reinforce this message, he punched him out, taking far too much pleasure in the exploit. Jimmy gaped at him as he exited the livery.

"Thank you for looking after my horse, Jimmy."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Murdoch, sir!"

* * *

**I took far too much pleasure in that as well. Don't care if he turned into a nice, clueless man this season. He was and always will be a gigantic arse in my mind.**


	9. Chapter 9

Preparations were underway now that he had a destination in mind. Colonel Brackenreid, Jasper and another two mounties by the names of Harold and John would be accompanying him on the journey. Both were pretty unobtrusive characters and spoke only when spoken to. Not that there was an overbearing silence among the convoy. Jasper's inability to keep his often scandalous thoughts to himself frequently filled the air, making Murdoch equal parts uncomfortable and intrigued.

Being a notably fine tracker, Jimmy offered his services as well, to the chagrin of his employer. Brackenreid sorted the man out soon enough and by early afternoon they were off with their supplies and tents slung over the sides and rears of their horses. Jimmy was operating the two horse drawn carriage that they would be using to transport the fugitives back to Calgary in- assuming they were found of course. It was approximately ninety miles to Red Deer from their starting point. If they kept at a steady pace, and barring no particularly inclement weather, they would arrive within forty-eight hours.

Before they left, Murdoch decided to try one last time to speak with Julia in a civilized manner. He found her in the parlour room of the main ranch house, keeping watch of a currently slumbering Simon. A bottle of heroin sat nearby and it was obvious the boy would be out for quite awhile, making this an ideal time for an intrusion. Once more she pretended as if he wasn't present until he actually spoke aloud.

"How is Simon faring?" he asked quietly, gesturing with his removed cowboy hat.

"He has broken his Ulna," she replied, without turning in her seat to look at him, "fractured his clavicle and contused several ribs." She smiled weakly, "But I dare say he will be fine. It is my understanding that young boys heal quickly."

"Yes, indeed they do." He paused. "You care for him a great deal."

It was not stated as a question because anyone who saw the way she looked at the boy could see it written there plain as day. Though he hated to admit it to himself, he had also seen that look when she was dealing with Darcy. Murdoch had yet to see it directed towards himself save for the time he had caught her in a tranquil mood inside the stable. And he was pretty sure in that instance it had simply been leftover emotion from tending to her stallion.

Gaze directed at the boy, she stroked his sandy hair and eventually said, "Simon came to me after his father was killed in a saloon misunderstanding. Over the years, he has proved himself to be a hard worker and a steadfast companion. I think of him as a son." She sighed and closed her eyes. "Like the son I shall never know."

This last statement had been uttered so quietly that he had barely caught it and he half wondered if he had simply imagined or misheard her. Not sure what to with himself, he acted on instinct and placed a hand to her shoulder, expecting her to immediately move out of his touch. Instead, she put her own hand over top his, an unusual amount of warmth seeming to radiate between them.

They stayed like this for a little while and then he removed his hand and said, "Well, I best be off. Stockton has intimated the fugitives are in Red Deer. Assuming they are still there, or near there, we should return within the week. I pray Simon will be feeling right as rain by then. He's a fine lad." He put on his hat and headed towards the door. Once there he turned and said, "Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Ogden."

Finally she looked over at him and seeing that this was said in earnest, rather than a mocking manner, her features took on a guilty attitude. "You'll forgive me I hope, Mr. Murdoch, for my outbursts and rather rude behaviour today. My sister has a way of getting under my skin." She made a face. "Apparently I shall have to get used to her overbearing presence again now that the trains are running."

"I wouldn't be so certain about that. She has expressed a strong disdain for the ways of country living."

Julia smiled at that. He smiled back, feeling quite content and not at all like trekking after sequential killers, but he simply tapped his hat, and left.

* * *

The trek halfway up the C and E (Calgary and Edmonton) trail was almost entirely uneventful, and just as predicted, they arrived Saturday afternoon. Compared to Red Deer, Calgary was a thriving metropolis. That's not to say that there was nothing here...just far less. Surrounded by a handful of homesteads was a trading post and a stopping house were weary travellers could resupply and recharge if needs be before the river crossing. Unsurprisingly, everything was constructed of whole logs. Without a sawmill to aid the dozen or so permanent residents in this isolated place, this was about as refined as it got.

According to his companions, the people who lived out here were almost exclusively men and all of them were fur traders who worked for The Hudson's Bay Company. At the time that they arrived, however, most of these hearty men were out in the bush waiting for traps to spring or a deer to walk right into the sights of their rifles. One of them saw the enclave and came over to investigate. They went through the usual spiel and the bearded man, Philip Jones, told them he hadn't been here on the date in question and instead directed them to the proprietor of the stopping house.

"If anyone's seen them, it'll be Fred. Got a keen eye for newcomers."

Fred Newcombe, a stout, reasonably attractive man, had much to say about the fugitives. It being a rainy and somewhat chilly day, they - Murdoch, Brackenreid and Jasper; the others were tending to the horses and supplies - stood around the crackling hearth of his modest accommodations.

"Oh yes," he said, intensely focused on the wanted poster, "I remember them."

The men shared a look.

Murdoch said, "You recognize them from this depiction?"

"I've got eyes don't I?" Newcombe responded, as if this was the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. Less rudely, "But I suppose most folks these days don't pay enough attention to the world around them to see what's really there. For me though," he said with a smug smile and a hand to his chest, "it was plain as day that the 'missus' was really a lad."

The fact that couples would rarely, if ever, come out here was not mentioned as a possible factor in his astute deductions.

"What did you do with this knowledge?" asked Murdoch.

"Kept it to myself of course. Customers are hard to come by out here. I've learned not to ask too many questions and just let folks be." He shrugged. "If the nancy boys want to play dress up and act queer together, I just mind my own business and count my money." He grinned. "I _may_ have charged them triple what I normally do."

"Could you elaborate on what you mean by 'acting queer together', sir?" inquired Jasper.

"It's just like it sounds, ain't it?" Newcombe replied in a puzzled manner, scratching his scruffy chin. "They were holding hands," he made a face, "and _kissing_."

The men shared another look. This wasn't terribly shocking news to him because of the fact that the men were known to have an unusual level of closeness and codependency - not to mention Gillies propensity for wearing women's clothing - no it was shocking to him because he had thought psychopaths didn't have normal emotions and weren't capable of love. Admittedly, he hadn't met many over the course of his career, but he had read and heard enough about them through the other members of his trade to think he _had_ heard it all. Apparently not.

"What did they say their purpose was in being here?" said Murdoch.

Newcombe scratched his chin again as he pondered this question. "Well, they _claimed_ they were on an adventure on their honeymoon and would be continuing up to Edmonton come morning. I told them that wasn't possible seeing as there's no carriages for hire and even if there were, the terrain's much more treacherous past the river and it wouldn't be able to make the journey. They thanked me for this information and later informed me that they had changed their minds and would just explore around here instead. I told them that wasn't such a smart idea either because of all the hunting traps. They didn't seem too perturbed about this bit of information."

"How long did they make use of your accommodations?" asked Jasper.

"Just the one night."

"Right then, so where do you suppose these murderous faeries would have gotten off to?" demanded Brackenreid. "There's hardly a hotel to shack up in."

"I can't imagine they'd have gotten too far. They had large trunks you see. Pretty difficult to drag that through the woods any great distance."

"Dragged their things to _where_ though?" barked Brackenreid.

"Haven't the foggiest," shrugged Newcombe.

"You must have seen them leave!" said Brackenreid, clearly close to throttling the man.

Their supply of whiskey had mysteriously vanished over the first night - Murdoch suspected Harold had gotten into the alcohol, but could not prove it - and now the Colonel was running high and dry and more irritable than usual as a result.

Newcombe shook his head. "They were gone before I got up in the morning. Good thing I always ask to be paid upfront."

"Dammit man!" he said grabbing Newcombe by the collar. "Give us _something_ to go on!"

"I believe what the Colonel is desiring to know," said Jasper, releasing the indignant fellow from Brackenreid's grasp, "is whether or not you know of any vacant hunting cabins they may have utilized for their own purposes."

"Sure," Newcombe said, straightening out his shirt with a glare at Brackenreid, "there's a few of them out there. But they're meant to be used during the winter months. They're all too far away for those boys to have gotten to on their own with those trunks of theirs."

"Could they have employed the aid of one of the fur traders?" said Murdoch.

How else could Gillies and Perry have located one such cabin?

"Not that I'm aware of. And believe you me, I was just as curious as you to know where they had vanished off to. Me and a couple of the boys even went looking, but we never found hid nor hair of them."

"Why did you not contact the NWMP to organize a search party?" asked Jasper.

Newcombe shrugged again. "Seemed pretty obvious to me that they didn't want to be found. I assumed it had to do with their perverse nature, something I shared with the boys...but now I know it was considerably more than that."

The mounties and Murdoch stepped outside into the drizzling rain in order to have a private conversation.

"How could two bloody city toffs manage something like that!" exploded Brackenreid.

"Puzzling news indeed," said Jasper.

"Perhaps, he has been paid off as well?" suggested Murdoch. "I am certain they bribed Stockton, and this man seems much more infatuated with money."

_For all the good it does him out here._

"We'll find out soon enough!" barked Brackenreid, rolling up his red sleeves.

"One moment please, Colonel," said Jasper with a wry smile. "I've just been overcome with a curious notion. If we believe Mr. Newcombe to be truthful, which I do. And he says the fugitives disappeared without a trace, well then, there's only one logical explanation for such a thing."

"Out with it man!"

"Do you recall the Lastman conundrum?"

Brackenreid groaned. "Not bloody Indians again. I can't stand those damn redskin savages!"

Jimmy looked over from the horses and Murdoch felt like punching the Colonel, but since that wouldn't be very productive, decided against it.

* * *

**Cantankerous Brax is always fun to write. Though hopefully he gets a drink soon cuz he's starting to piss me off.**

**I know people have theorized before that Gillies and Perry were lovers, but I'm not sure it's ever been explored before in a fic.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Couldn't figure out where to put this so here**: Murdoch suspected Gillies had allowed Newcombe to see his true identity so that when they disappeared no one would bother searching too hard or alert the NWMP. For that would have been completely counter intuitive to their singular goal; remaining out of the limelight.

* * *

It was nearly dark before they arrived on the outskirts of the only known Indian encampment in these parts. Philip Jones, a well built athletic man, had led them there himself. For the most part, the Indians kept to themselves, but out of necessity the fur traders did have occasion to trade every now and again. Sometimes the Indians even came into their little hamlet for this purpose. Jones had thought that the fugitives must have come in contact with the Indians during just such an exchange. Contrary to popular belief, some of them could speak English quite well and therefore it was relatively easy to interact with them, provided you didn't hold the barrel of a gun to their face.

"Funny how all men don't seem to like that," Jones had said with a smirk.

They stopped far enough back from the camp so as to not feel as though they were a threat and intruding on their territory. Now that they were this close to the Indians, he noticed Jimmy was ill at ease. Whatever that was about, Murdoch could only guess.

In his ornery state, Brackenreid wanted to charge straight on in but Jones talked him out of it.

"It would be best if I were to speak with them first. We have a rapport after all."

They watched as Jones trotted over to the camps southern entrance. A sentinel with a drawn bow and arrow also followed his progress.

He stopped just outside and spoke to a lanky Indian man for a short while. The man disappeared and another one took his place, this one much more imposing and fancily dressed. After Jones pointed them out, the man (whom Murdoch assumed was the chief) kept shaking his head and the conversation quickly took on a heated tone (at least on Jones' part), and the Indian gestured for him to leave. This Jones did quickly enough, riding back over to them, irritation written all across his normally jovial features.

"I'm sorry," said Jones. "They refuse to speak to you."

"What the bloody hell is going on?" demanded Brackenreid, gripping his reins tight. "I thought you said you had a rapport!"

"_I_ do," he replied. "The problem is that _you_ do not."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?!"

"As I'm sure you are aware, the NWMP and the Cree do not have a bloodless past. Far from it. They are a proud people and take long to forgive."

At these words Jimmy shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

"Well that's just bloody great!" Brackenreid yelled, tossing up his hands. "We come all the way out here just to be turned away! I don't think so!"

Murdoch and Jasper shared a look and being on either side of the Colonel, each grabbed a hold of his reins before he went charging towards certain death.

"Let me go you bloody bastards!" he snarled, attempting to pry Murdoch's fingers loose. "Those nancy boys are probably in there as we speak!"

"Please, sir," said Jasper, "have a little patience."

"I've got plenty of patience!" Brackenreid boomed, causing a flock of birds to fly out of the forest they had emerged from.

They would have gladly given him some whiskey hours ago but the settlement in Red Deer had been bone dry, or at least that's what had been claimed. The stuff probably wasn't easy to come by and was likely rationed out most of the time. Not something you would want to share with passing strangers unless you absolutely had to. So they had to make do with the rapidly unhinging Colonel as best as they could. At this rate he would be dead by morning, unless they figured out a way to speak with the Indians.

Naturally they all looked to Jimmy. He became very anxious at the prospect of dealing with them.

"Please, just give it a try," said Jasper.

Jimmy nodded and rode over there slower than he had to. The scenario that followed was similar to Jones' in the beginning, until Jimmy approached the lanky Indian. This time there was a one sided conversation in which the gatekeeper completely ignored him, as if he didn't exist. Suddenly Murdoch felt a kindred spirit in this man, and was burning with curiousity to know why they were acting this way towards him.

* * *

Later, after they had set up camp and the others had gone to sleep, Murdoch stayed with Jimmy around the fire, and asked him about this.

Jimmy sighed, stared deeply into the flickering flames, and then began his tale.

"I was from this tribe, grew up here. These people were my family. I now live among the white man, dress as one and even work for one. I'm considered nothing at all to them. Not even worth notice."

"Why did you leave?"

"I never really felt like I fit in with my tribe. I was forever asking questions that no one could satisfactorily answer. Then one day while I was out hunting, I met a beautiful white woman, the daughter of an adventurer and explorer. Instead of being frightened of me, or attacking me, she simply spoke to me like a human being and showed me wonderful modern inventions that I never dreamed could exist. I fell in love with her and this modern world of hers. When she returned to Calgary, I went with her and she helped establish me in town. Even after I looked like them it was still quite awhile before anyone else accepted me. George was the first one to show me true kindness and slowly but surely people followed his lead." He sighed again, eyes never once leaving the flames. "I thought I would make more of myself than a simple stable boy, but I never managed to. Everything...and everyone I gave up was for naught."

"What happened to her, the woman?"

Jimmy didn't respond at first and when he did, there was an additional note of sadness. "She didn't feel the same way that I felt about her. After I was settled in town she went back home, to Saskatchewan. I never saw her again."

Murdoch had never left or been left by someone he was in love with. Mostly because he had never been in love. Still, he couldn't imagine it was a pleasant experience and he felt badly for the man but there was nothing he could do to make it better. So they simply stared into the fire for some time until it burned down to glowing embers. Jimmy put it out with a bit of water and they too retired for the night.

That is until there was a bit of commotion. Murdoch quickly became alert when he heard some hushed voices carrying on not too far from his tent flaps. They were not speaking in English. He reached for his revolver and cautiously poked his head outside, expecting to find themselves surrounded by the Cree. Instead he found Jimmy trying to force a striking young Indian woman out of the camp.

She stiffened at his approach, or perhaps the weapon in his hand and he lowered it. In any case, she stopped struggling and Jimmy turned to face him too.

"What's going on here, Jimmy?"

The woman raised an eyebrow at the name and then burst out laughing.

"Keep it down, Kayla," warned Jimmy. But too late, Jasper had been awoken as well and had come to investigate.

Murdoch shared a look with him and shrugged.

"Well, now, _Jimmy_," said the woman with clear amusement, "the rat is out of the bag. You might as well let me stay."

"If they find out you attempted to help us, they will banish you too."

"I don't care, Jaha," she replied fiercely, "they shouldn't treat you this way. I will help you whether you like it or not."

"There's nothing I can say that will stop you, is there?"

"Was there ever?"

Jimmy shook his head, smiling slightly. "No, I suppose not. All right then," he said, gesturing to the overturned logs they had used as dinner seating. Once the four of them were situated - Jimmy facing Kayla, and Murdoch and Jasper facing each other – he continued, "What can you tell us about the men we have been searching for?"

"Enough."

* * *

With Kayla's information in hand, they (or rather Jimmy) now knew where the fugitives were hiding. It was not in the Indian camp before them, but rather an ancient secluded place the Cree used for contemplation and healing.

Naturally they were all confused by this development, but that was the extent of Kayla's eavesdropped information. Jimmy hugged the woman before she stole away into the night and watched her progress until he was certain she had made it back to her home unseen.

The men got a few more hours of shut eye and then in the early morning they were off again. At the entrance to the sanctuary, two able bodied Cree carrying a club and bows and arrow, respectively, came out to block their path, one saying something in very angry tones to Jimmy. Whatever Jimmy responded with seemed to calm the man down enough to avoid bloodshed.

Jimmy turned on his horse and said, "They do not wish to grant you access."

Brackenreid was not having any of this nonsense. But seeing as how there was an arrow directed at his heart, he decided against charging past and quickly closed his trap.

"So now what?" he grumbled.

Jimmy spoke to the men again, this time for longer.

"They say they will allow two of us to pass...but no redcoats."

Murdoch immediately understood that it would just be him and Jimmy proceeding forward now, something it took Brackenreid a much longer time to comprehend.

"This is a sacred place," Jimmy said to Murdoch. "If we wish to proceed, we must leave all instruments of destruction behind."

It had been a long while since he had been foolish enough to confront dangerous men without any means to protect himself save for his wits and fists, but there was nothing for it. He couldn't let Jimmy try and take them both on himself. He had no idea what they were capable of.

Finally they commenced on a nearly half a mile trek through underbrush and narrow passages that finally opened up into an idyllic meadow. Here there were several teepee's scattered throughout, a couple with smoke emanating from the tops. The Cree present simply watched as they passed by.

Jimmy spoke to one of them and at first they didn't respond but then they pointed to a teepee over to their left about two hundred paces. The two outsiders nodded to each other and then ambled on over, every step the horse took leaving him increasingly anxious. He patted his saddle bag to reassure himself that at least the lasso was still present.

When they were closer, they could hear chanting in the Cree tongue from within. Nevertheless, Murdoch said in his best authoritative tone, "James Gillies and Robert Perry. Come out here immediately. You are under arrest."

Instead what he got was an elderly Cree woman poking her head out. She spoke to Jimmy and Jimmy turned to him and said, "We'll have to go in there if we want to see them."

Again his unease grew, but so too did his curiousity. The men descended their horses and Jimmy leading, entered the teepee. The air was thick with smoke from burning incense but there was another far more unpleasant smell just beneath this. One he was well acquainted with.

What they found was Gillies lying down, stripped of all his female attire and clothed in nothing more than his underthings. Without all the makeup covering up his face, Murdoch could see there were lesions on his face and neck. Perry sat off to the side, holding his hand, apparently oblivious to their presence. The man's fake beard was gone, and despite the relative darkness in here, he still wore the brown tinted sunglasses Jimmy had alluded to. Murdoch could see that Perry's hands were covered in an ugly rash and almost looked deformed.

Suddenly everything made sense.


	11. Chapter 11

With Perry securely behind bars to mourn the loss of his lover and await transport back to Toronto, Brackenreid next looked for a drink. Alas he couldn't find any. Apparently his wife (and possibly that she-devil Hamilton) had been in the barracks during his absence and cleared out his stash. Almost beside himself, he high tailed it to the saloon to finally get himself right in the head, and Murdoch joined him, feeling like he too could use some liquid courage.

While he was partaking of his second shot of whiskey, he noticed someone coming down the stairs from the brothel portion of this establishment. This being a regularly common occurrence he didn't think anything of it. But then he did a double take and said, "Julia?"

She looked over and smiled. When she turned he saw that she was holding a big black bag. He hopped to his feet and met her near the saloon's entrance, where the mid day sunshine enveloped her and made her even more welcoming. It was with some effort that he did not attempt to hug her.

"Hello, William. I do hope you found your men and are not drowning your sorrows."

He frowned. "Ah, yes, we found them all right."

"But?"

"James Gillies was already dead."

Indifferently, "I would say that is most unfortunate, but I would be lying. He killed one of my father's employees, a man I was somewhat acquainted with. He had three children." She paused briefly, becoming slightly more compassionate. "What happened to the devil?"

"He had contracted a particularly potent form of syphilis, very fast acting."

"Yes, I know a thing or two about that."

"Oh?" he replied, eyebrow raised.

She shook her bag. "I come here once a week to check up on the girls and do my best to make sure they are keeping healthy. Dr. Garland would do this himself but unfortunately the last male doctor had a nasty habit of taking advantage of his patients, and none too nicely." Nonchalantly, and he thought also with a touch of pride, she continued, "He was soon dispatched of by one of the girls. After they refused to be tended to by Darcy, he taught me enough to tend to them myself, something I am very grateful for. If women must be party to such sordid affairs simply to survive, they should at least be allowed a modicum of assurance that they shall live a relatively fit physical existence. Unfortunately that is not always the case." She paused, "Anyway, you were saying?"

It took him a moment to get his barrings again after that rather emphatic pronouncement. "Well, according to Robert Perry, Gillies lover," - this revelation only registered for the briefest of instances on her face, - "who is also now visibly afflicted, they had failed to cure his disease with conventional medicine and therefore had looked to unconventional avenues. After Gillies' parents found out that he was a homosexual, and an afflicted one at that, they had disowned and disinherited him, calling him a stain on the family legacy. Perry was not from a wealthy family himself, and since they needed money to cross overseas and afford said unconventional methods, they started robbing banks."

"Surely the one would have been enough?" she interjected.

"Yes, well, apparently the disease had affected Gillies' mind to such a degree that he was unable to be reasoned with in this regard. His increasing insanity drove him to murder six people."

"Why did Mr. Perry continue to follow such an unstable person?"

"People in love tend to do irrational things."

They stared at one another for a moment and then she broke eye contact and said, "I still don't understand why they came all the way out here, instead of crossing the sea like they had planned."

"When they were apprehended, most of their funds were also discovered and returned to their rightful owners. The little they had left was not enough to go overseas and pay for exotic procedures. Gillies had heard a rumour about The Plains Cree and their supposed mystic healing powers. It was their last, albeit desperate chance at a cure."

Julia processed this for a few seconds. "Where is the body now?"

"Buried in an unmarked grave near Red Deer. Perry was certain his family would not miss it. And we had no desire to convey his decaying corpse such a distance."

"Do you not need proof of his death though, to satisfy the terms of the bounty?"

"One of the fur traders happened to own a camera." He smiled, "I should really procure one for myself, but they are such a hassle to lug around."

"Perhaps one day they will miniaturize them for easier portability?"

"Oh, I highly doubt that, Julia," he said, smiling politely at her ignorance, "how would the plates fit?"*

"Well, then," she said with a reluctant smile, "I suppose this means you will soon be returning to Toronto to collect your reward."

He was about to respond when the doors swung open, nearly knocking him and Julia over, and a gang of surly looking men barged in, each with a weapon. Murdoch pulled Julia further away from danger, closer to the stairs, and used his body as a shield. Rather unnecessarily he held onto her with one hand, something she didn't object to.

A familiar long haired vagabond pushed through the men, unarmed.

"Well, well, well," said Mick O'Shea with a tickled expression, "look who we have here."

Brackenreid turned to scowl at the man but was wise and sober enough not to go for his gun straight off. They needed to wait for the opportunity to strike. Murdoch was glad he had left his revolver holstered after coming back into town.

"What did I tell you, O'Shea?" barked Brackenreid.

"Oh, I's heard ye, boyo, but I's never taken orders from anyone in me life. And certainly not from the likes of ye."

O'Shea spit right there on the floor.

"Get out of my establishment," ordered Giles in a surprisingly strong voice, "before I loose Mr. Warton on you."

Smirking, O'Shea looked off into the darkened corner where Warton always resided with his rifle. "I's not too worried about him. Me and the boys are better prepared this time."

O'Shea nodded to the armed men and they raised their guns at everyone present, Murdoch included. He felt Julia gasp slightly and grip his arm tightly.

O'Shea himself simply sauntered further into the room with two goons and back behind the bar where Giles resided. Without preamble, he socked the older man in the gut and he groaned, clutching his stomach. Warton moved almost imperceptibly in the shadows.

The gang leader gestured to his helpers, and they moved into the storage room and started carrying out crates of whiskey. While they were doing this, O'Shea came around to face Brackenreid. In the blink of an eye he had retrieved a knife from his sleeve and was pressimg the tip against the Colonel's forehead. Next he reached for the man's pistol and tossed it off to the side. A trickle of blood was now making its way down the bridge of Brackenreid's nose.

"Now what, O'Shea?" said Brackenreid calmly enough, though his tense body language spoke otherwise.

"Now, Colonel?" he replied with a mischievous grin. "Now we have some fun."

Lickety split he slashed his forearm. Brackenreid refrained from grabbing it even though the blood was already soaking through, darkening his cherry red tunic.

"Stop this right now!" demanded Murdoch. "Leave before you cross a line you cannot hope to come back from."

O'Shea cocked his head in Murdoch's direction and laughed.

"Ye don't get it? We's tired of this muck," - he slashed Brackenreid's chest and this time he winced, "telling us what to do. We's say, no more law! No more rules! Ain't that right lads!?"

A cheer rose up through the hooligans. By now several crates had been stacked near the entrance. A couple of the braver prostitutes had also come out onto the upper landing to see what was amiss. And it was this action that served to throw everything into chaos. The man covering Murdoch became distracted by a buxom dark haired lass and in that instant, Murdoch nodded to Warton and shot the man in the chest. In virtually the same moment Warton had shot one of the other men, square between the eyes. Before the other men could react to the ambush, he pushed Julia down none too gently, and let loose another shot at the next man. He fell as well, but then a third man got the drop on Murdoch. He was hit in the gut and the pain forced him to his knees. Beyond the blood pounding in his ears, he could hear a woman screaming. Warton took this man out too a split second later and then it was just O'Shea and a couple of other miscreants.

"Drop your weapons!" yelled O'Shea. "Or the Colonel gets it!"

Lazily, Murdoch turned to see Brackenreid also on his knees, with the edge of a knife pressed to his jugular. He did as the man said, not because he wanted to, but because his fingertips were rapidly numbing. Warton apparently refused because after another shot rang out, he saw a dark figure crumple in the corner. It was then that he became aware of Julia by his side, frantically pulling out bandages from her bag with one hand, while applying pressure with the other. He reached out and touched her lovely face, wishing he could smooth out the worry etched there, wishing he could tell her all the things he knew in his heart were true. She looked back at him with eyes full of terror.

"William, stay with me!" she whined, as he slumped against her. She laid him down and started wrapping bandages around his abdomen. He gave her a dopey smile and fought against the pull of blackness, doing its best to shut his eyelids, perhaps forever. If he had to spend eternity looking at one thing, it would be her face, dirty as it was.

"I wouldn't bother lass," came the taunting remark from the villain. "He's not long for this world." He laughed. "Not after the next bullet anyway!"

One of the remaining men aimed his rifle at Murdoch's head and Julia pleaded with him not to do it, practically throwing herself across his bleeding body. The ugly thing just grinned and said, "After I'm done with him, you and me are gonna get much better acquainted."

The man went to pull the trigger and Julia began to cry. A second later a shot rang out.

Strangely Murdoch didn't feel any colder than he already had. Vaguely he wondered why. Then the man with the rifle fell down, followed by the last armed man.

"What's going on!?" exclaimed O'Shea, whirling around wildly to find the source of the gunfire. As he did so, Brackenreid grabbed his wrist and twisted it hard. The knife clattered to the floor. O'Shea punched him in the ear with his free hand but Brackenreid didn't let go. He grabbed O'Shea by the other arm and yanked him down to his knees too. Then Brackenreid headbutted the man so hard that he just about knocked himself out. Thankfully his skull was thicker and he managed to avoid this. Swaying slightly he pushed himself to his feet and surveyed the room. There were bodies and blood everywhere. It was going to be a bloody big chore to clean this up. He smiled to himself. He would just get the others to do it.

"Oye!" he yelled at one of the witnesses to the carnage. "Get _your_ arse down to the barracks and tell the men to get _their _arses down here! And bring Dr. Garland while you're at it!"

The man scurried out and Brackenreid directed his attention to the seemingly unconscious Murdoch and his care giver.

"How's he doing doctor?"

"I'm not sure," she said biting her lip, tears threatening to break free again.

"Well, I'll-" Brackenreid put a hand to his head and sat down, closing his eyes. "Bloody hell."

While Giles went over to check on Warton, the dark haired prostitute from before came scurrying down the stairs, her gun still in hand. She dropped down beside Julia, who was still attempting to stem the flow of blood from him with copious amounts of bandages.

"What can I do to help, Julia?" the young woman said.

"If you could just hold him upright, I would have a much easier time with this."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Emily. You saved his life."

"I only wish I had retrieved my firearm sooner." While they worked at this Emily attempted to distract her friend from her obvious anguish with trivial questions. "I've seen this man before, but I've forgotten his name."

"His name is William Murdoch."

"Oh? Any relation to the proprietor of the harness shop?"**

"No, not that I am aware of. Murdoch is a fairly common Scottish surname."

"He doesn't look very Scottish to me."

"They don't _all_ look alike, Emily."

"Indeed, he's much more handsome than the average Scotsman."

"Now really, Emily."

There was a bit of a pause while they finished wrapping him up and Julia cut off the bandage in order to tie it off. Gently she laid him down and stroked his hair in a reminiscent manner to that of Simon. Emily observed her for some time until Julia became self conscience and looked up.

"Forgive me for asking this, Julia...but are you by any chance in love with him?"

"What makes you say such a thing?"

"You look and act like a woman in love."

"I- I don't know what you are talking about."

"Come now, Julia, you threw yourself over his body. You were ready to sacrifice yourself to save him."

"He was injured and I simply did what anyone else would have done in my position. Now stop asking me such asinine questions and go pour us both a drink."

Brackenreid fell over.

"Right after we attend to the Colonel, that is."

* * *

**It wouldn't have been a western without some kind of gun fight in a saloon. So check.**

**FYI, Syphilis can cause extreme light sensitivity...hence the sunglasses.**

***Not long after this fic takes place, George Eastman develops celluloid film. Murdoch's always so bad at predicting future technologies, I had to include that here too. :p**

****Hilariously, after Calgary became an official town in 1884, the first mayor elected was George Murdoch. And get this, he emigrated from Scotland, lived on the East Coast for much of his childhood, married a woman named Margaret and had two kids there. Once he moved to Calgary he started up a successful business - a harness shop - and later became part of the Masons and the Orange Lodge.**


	12. Chapter 12

A day later...

The dreary day matched her mood perfectly. Seeing as not many people knew him very well, only some of the town had come to pay their last respects. Among these were the familiar faces of the boys in red, George, Ruby, Giles, Emily and Julia.

The town's minister, Clements, was saying last rites as the wooden coffin was lowered into the hole by Brackenreid and Jasper via a sturdy rope. Each of them in turn sprinkled a little wet dirt on the top. Most present started to slowly depart. Soon it was just Emily and Julia.

"He was a good man," said Julia, tiredly. "He had a good heart."

"Yes, we might all be dead if not for him," said Emily. "We owe him a great debt." She squeezed Julia's hand. "I'm sorry, Julia, I know you were close...or as close as you could get."

"If only he had confided in me more, perhaps I would have understood him better. Now I shall never have the chance."

Emily gave her a hug and then they too parted to go their separate ways. The ride home felt like forever to Julia. If it weren't for her stallion, Marcus, knowing the way himself, she probably wouldn't have made it back for hours.

Upon her arrival home, Simon waved to her with his undamaged arm. William had been right. Only a week or so had been needed for the boy to be in high spirits again. If only the same could be said about herself. Aimlessly she walked around the house, doing her best to forget that terrible scene in the saloon, but unable to. Such a traumatic experience would probably stay with her for the rest of her life. Things could have been considerably worse though. At least she had that to be thankful for.

Still she was desperate for a break from reality. Julia found an old bottle of whiskey and collapsed into one of the parlour room chairs. She planned on drinking until she passed out. A significant way into the bottle, there was a noise up above, so subtle as to be nonexistent. Julia dismissed it as nothing. A little while later there was another sound. This time she thought she must be hearing things, that the alcohol had finally started to impair her faculties to a high degree. With the sound of breaking glass however, her senses perked up fully (or as much as the libation allowed) and she put down the bottle and hurriedly went upstairs.

So dizzy was she by the time she made it to the upper landing, that she had to rest a moment, leaning against the balustrade. Julia did not scare easily, but the thought of going into that room right now frightened her to death. She was afraid of what she might do in her current state, and even more terrifying, what she might say.

Her body disregarded orders and pushed the door open. William looked over at her from the bed they had made love in and squinted. Then he smiled weakly and she couldn't help but return it. Throat suddenly constricting, her eyes fell to the main source of disturbance, a broken water glass.

"Sorry," he said groggily. Whether from sleep or heroin, she couldn't say.

"Oh, it was just a cup," she said, twiddling her horse necklace nervously. "I've many more where that came from."

"No," he replied, gazing at her intently, "I am sorry I made you worry."

Was she that transparent?

She looked away and swayed a bit, steadying herself against the door frame. _Damn, why did I drink so much?_

"Are you all right, Julia?"

_Am __I__ all right_? she thought with a snort. _You are the one who was shot! Who almost joined John in the ground!_

Cautiously, almost shyly, she glanced back to see he was staring at her concernedly. Her mouth twitched and then despite her best efforts she started to bawl and hurried over to his side. She crawled into the small bed beside him and buried her face in his neck, doing her damnedest to release all the pain of the last day, and arguably her entire life. He held her awkwardly given his inability to move much and given the location of his tender wound.

Eventually she calmed down enough for coherent conversation.

"Forgive me for such a pitiful display," she explained, attempting to leave before she could embarrass herself further, if such a thing were even possible.

His hold on her shoulder was surprisingly strong considering his condition. William turned her face so that they were mere inches from each other. All she saw there was kindness and warmth, no judgement whatsoever for losing control so completely.

"Showing emotion is not a sign of weakness, Julia. You have nothing to be ashamed about. If anything, I am envious of your ability to shed tears. I haven't cried since my mother died. I was fifteen."

Swept up in his understanding, she took his face in her hands and kissed him then. Nothing like the passion of their night together. Just a simple token of her affection.

He grinned wearily and said, "Such welcoming hospitality here at the Ogden ranch."

Julia rolled her eyes and then because he was so adorable looking in that moment, kissed him again. She sighed contentedly and just laid her head beside his. Silently they stayed like this, and just when she felt herself drifting off for the first time in over twenty-four hours he said, "Julia, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Yes?" she said somewhat breathlessly.

"What's the significance of your necklace...it seems to mean a great deal to you."

"Oh..." she said, fiddling with it some more. "My mother gave it to me before she died. Her true love gave it to her."

"You mean your father? Lionel?"

"No, she confessed to me before she died that she had loved another. Passionately and without restraint. But he was killed during the Mexican-American War and out of necessity she was forced to marry another."

He was quiet for so long that she turned to face him, thinking he had fallen asleep. William was studying her, as if he were searching her face for the answers to questions that didn't exist.

"Julia, why did you come all the way out here to Calgary? I know it was not simply to avoid wearing a corset. Did your father have something to do with it?"

"Yes, indeed," she admitted, surprised at how astute his guess was. "We have never gotten along very well, but more than that, he was continuously plying me with suitors, claiming if I were to marry I would finally start acting like a proper lady, the way my mother would have wanted me to behave." Her eyes burned with an inner fire. "The man never really knew her at all. She told me countless times I should never try to be anything other than I am, or attempt to please people simply because it is expected of me."

"Your mother reminds me of my own. She would never put up with my father's malarky." He looked at her seriously. "Is your father's misguided wisdom the reason you refused to admit you had feelings for me?" Rather taken aback at this revelation she just stared at him, unable to respond. "Marriage only changes a person for the worse if they let it. Our mothers were proof of that."

"What are you saying, William?" she said a little breathlessly again.

"I'm saying, Julia, that I would never try to change a single thing about you."

* * *

**Did anyone actually think I had killed him off? I'm curious.**

**And that's about it for me folks. Glad I managed to get through this one. It was looking pretty iffy there for a bit.**

**Anyway, here's hoping Murdoch's mentor in tonight's ep will smack some sense into him and he'll start showing some actual passion towards his wife.  
**

**Hopefully it'll be something like this: "Stop acting the fool boy! I've been celibate for 60 years! I need to live vicariously through you!" :p  
**


End file.
